


The Hot Mechanic

by ChutJeDors



Series: The Hot Series [1]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: ALSO GEORGE IS A BiTCH, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone's gay, F/M, Kissing, M/M, Masturbating, Mentions of Sex, Modern AU, Swearing, a bit more mentions of sex, after some time: sex, gay porn, george basically harasses fucking EVERYONE, george harasses john and paul, george harasses the people of london, porn watching and that stuff, this fic is..... the ultimate slow burn, warnings: george
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 19:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7235722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChutJeDors/pseuds/ChutJeDors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started when Paul's computer exploded. Of course that was very unfortunate for him, seeing as he doesn't really have money to repair it. Fortunately George happens to have a friend who can repair things. Fortunate is also that the friend happens to be very hot. Although Paul is not a queer, so why would it bother him? But heterosexuality is not a problem when it's George pulling the strings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. George Makes It Clear That He Is A Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on LJ in 2013. This is a polished and fancy re-release where things have been fixed without you noticing a thing. Hope you'll enjoy!
> 
> The fic (and the whole series) uses photos in a way of story-telling. Make sure you're reading from a device that shows them.
> 
> Original fic beta-ed by Anna who is a darling and has beared me for ages, and the new release is checked and motivated by Becca who inspires me to write crap. thanks

It all started when Paul's computer exploded. He had been in a coffee shop with George, meaning to spend a peaceful afternoon working on his poems and maybe writing a bit of his novel, when his brand new MacBook Air blew up and spit a cloud of dark smoke on his face.  
  
"Holy fuck!" he jumped on his feet, bringing his hands to cover his eyes that felt like they were burning and cursed a bit more while coughing.  
  
"Gee, Paul. It exploded,” he heard George say in awe and he wiped his eyes vigorously, answering with a harsh tone.

"No, really? I might've missed it, with all this fucking computer excrement in me eyes!"  
  
He heard George snicker and immediately decided his flatmate was a moron with an evil mind, as he didn't even bother asking if Paul was alright with all that stuff in his eyes. Fortunately he then somehow managed to get his left eye open and saw George looking at him with his mouth trembling, coke in his other hand and the other one on his phone.  
  
"Be right back,” Paul mumbled, turning his back on George, who probably just couldn't help it anymore and cracked up, quickly putting his coke on the table so he wouldn't drop it accidentally. Paul wished with all his heart it would jump on the floor, shatter on millions of pieces and maybe corrode the idiot's feet away.  
  
He reached the bathroom, happy of the fact that the coffee shop was almost empty, so there was really no one witnessing this embarrassing accident. He washed his face while cursing his computer and George into the deepest part of hell and wished he had chosen his best friend a bit better. Years back he had made the wrong decision, and now it was too late to get rid of the biggest bastard the world had ever met that was currently waiting him in their table, probably texting all his (and Paul's, as Paul had forgotten his mobile on his bag) friends about this. It was probably on their both Facebook walls by now, also in George's God's forsaken twitter _and_ tumblr that he mostly used on obsessing over Jimmy Page and Jimi Hendrix, them both being kind of guitar players. Never forgetting bloody Bob Dylan who had been his biggest crush since his early teenager years.  
  
Paul somehow managed to get everything off of his face and felt a bit better with his success until he remembered why he had got his face covered in computer poop in the first place.  
  
Great. Now what was he supposed to do?  
  
By the time he returned to their table, George was taking a picture of his friend's ex-MacBook Air with Paul's mobile phone, while at the same time talking with someone on his phone, laughing manically.  
  
"Yeah, I know! But a bit more like, 'MacPuff Air'!"  
  
For a while Paul really had to try hard to remember why he was George's friend in the first place. Yes, they had known each other for years, but George was too irritating and annoying, sometimes (meaning almost all the time) he was a way too clinging and even if he didn't try to make a pass on Paul anymore (thank God) he was still too flirtatious for Paul's liking. _And_ he was impossible to handle when he was drunk. And he was way too loud while having sex and _that_ disturbed Paul, as George had someone almost every other night, when he was at his best. And that caused Paul many sleepless nights. And in the mornings George had a decency to smile and ask if he had had good dreams and Paul just wished he could strangle him.  
  
He rolled his eyes, sat down and reached his hand out, caught his iPhone from the whore he called his friend. He checked his Facebook, and yes, there was a picture of his Macintosh and a text, 'just managed to blow up this thing too! I can’t trust even machines anymore, now there’s only my dear friend George left'. It had already reached ten likes and eight comments, all of them saying 'what the fuck' or 'wow you rock man'. Paul sighed deeply, flipped the mobile into his jeans' pocket and leaned closer to the computer, examining it with care. He really was doomed.  
  
"Hope it hasn't cleared up my memory stick,” he mumbled, reaching out to take the said object off and looked at it miserably. Of course he had copies of his novel everywhere and also of his poems, but the things he had written today where still only in this memory stick, and it would be a drag to do it all again.  
  
And then there was this problem that his computer was probably an ex-computer now.  
  
"I jus' bought it and all!" he exclaimed and threw his hands over his eyes, trying to force down the tears of disappointment. Now he needed a new one, and where could he find money for that?? He was just a student in a university studying his bloody mother language. This MacBook had been a long time investment and he had waited _a year_ to get enough money for it. And there was no way he would take it to be repaired; it was a fucking Macintosh computer, just getting the components repairing needed would cost more than buying a fucking Rolls Royce.  
  
"Well,” George started, him having stopped the call with whoever it had been. "Maybe you should repair it."  
  
Paul wanted to hit his head on the table and for a while considered it seriously. Really, George knew as well as he did what it would cost.  
  
He was just about to open his mouth and start churning out all kind of things he wasn't raised to use, when the slut sighed chuckling and shook his head.  
  
"I know what ye're gonna say, but I didn't mean it like takin' it to a bloody Apple store."  
  
Oh?  
  
"What I meant 's that you gotta repair it by yerself!"  
  
Paul's jaw dropped a bit and he stared at George stupidly. What did George actually think? _Paul_ would repair it? He, who couldn't even use a printer properly?  
  
George laughed at his face and waved his hand vaguely in the air.  
  
"Okay, I get it, I get it mate. Ye could have some of yer friends instead?"  
  
"As any of my friends could repair anythin',” Paul answered matter-of-factly and rubbed his forehead with his both hands, "I'm really doomed."  
  
"Well, don't give up yet,” George grinned and tossed the rest of his coke into his throat. "'M sure we'll come up with somethin'."  
  
"Yeah, sure,” Paul sighed, grabbed the computer and stuffed it into his bag, stood up and turned to walk out of the coffee.  
  
"You not waitin' for me then?" George's supposedly hurt voice reached his ears and he stopped, feeling very annoyed. He would like to have a bit of a quiet time, but then again, he didn't want to say anything, couldn't say a no to his best friend who was a bit of a baby, even at the age of 21, and even if he had probably already fucked more people than Paul would ever in his life.  
  
Maybe he was too kind, after all.  
  
"C'mon then,” he just said, not turning to look at George and pushed the door open, walking out.  
  
Every now and then he fucking hated his life.

***~**~***

George had been going through his phone's name list and at the same time his email contacts, trying to remember all of the people there was, for half an hour now. It was problematic, because he didn't really remember (or know, so foreign names there were) everyone and he really _needed_ someone who could help. Paul had been sulking last few days, snapping and cursing to people who hadn't really done anything. He had mostly spent his time in bed, not attending his lectures and sometimes even skipping his meal. Of course George understood why.  
  
What a stupid reason to get depressed, have your computer explode, but again, George understood. He may have been a bitch when it happened, but he did know how much it affected his best friend; Paul had saved all that money to buy that computer and now it was clear that he couldn't afford a new one in ages, not with the university and the flat's rent and food and everything, bills and such.

To be truthful, George would be ever-so-happy to buy him a new computer for a late birthday present or unbirthday one, but he knew Paul would never accept it. He would probably throw it out of the window.  
  
So that was why George was going through his contacts, trying to find someone who could repair things while Paul was locked up in his room, probably writing hateful poems by hand how his loved one had left him and everyone should DIE.  
So far George hadn't had any luck, but then again he was just going somewhere in the middle of 'K'-starting surnames. He didn't know how it was possible to have that much of contacts; especially when he was known as 'an unsocial idiot who doesn't enjoy anyone's parties and only gets drunk' (this great and fabulous name had one _GREAT guy_ given him, George thought he would meet him in 'L').

It was total bullshit, though. He did enjoy parties, but only if there were nice fuckable people. But maybe the getting drunk -part was the reason for all of these names... If he saved all the people he had fucked or had a one-night-stand, no wonder he had almost 2000 persons in his list. And that was only the mobile phone.  
  
He took a better position on the sofa, leaning against the cushions and fixing his computer in his lap, glancing if there were any new notifications in Facebook. He wasn't that much of a Facebook user, but it was a handy way to remember his friends' birthdays and also ask things like 'does anyone near have food, we're out of it' or 'could anyone lend me this CD, I fucking lost mine' or 'is there anyone who could maybe repair this piece shit, it exploded'. Twitter, well, he didn't understand it that much, just hung there with some of his friends and wondered what the hell was going on. And tumblr, it didn't help in this occasion, because probably there was some fellow tumblr user who could very well repair Paul's ex-love (the affair had broken up when ex-love decided to poop on her loved one's face) but the problem was that most of them were on the other side of the world. Of course all of his followers already knew about this and Paul had got lots of sympathy from all of the computer-addicted classic rock fans (and few hipsters and Sherlock fans had also said sorry).  
  
He managed to get past 'K' with no further success and considered of giving up for a while, but he knew he couldn't. If he wanted to get Paul out of his room sometime, he had to do this.  
  
And when the right person suddenly showed up, he almost scrolled past the name.  
  
He stopped, froze and stared at his iPhone's screen, his lips slowly forming a smile. If he wasn't totally wrong, he had just found a perfect guy to do the job.  
  
Without any further thoughts, he selected the number and flipped the phone to his ear, grinning like a fool. He had a feeling that this was going to be fun.

***~**~***

Paul was on a mission. He was on a mission to get back into his room before George could jump on him and start make fun of him and his computer once again; the fellow had been intolerably joyful during the last two days, whistling and singing Carl Perkins that he did only when something _really_ good was going to happen, or had happened. Maybe he had just gotten a good lay without Paul knowing.  
  
He had spent the whole day in his bed, reading Edgar Allan Poe and trying to work on several poems. It was only natural that sometimes he got a desire to use the bathroom, and because he hadn't really washed himself lately he had decided to take a long and calming shower. He had just finished drying himself when he heard George come home and here he was, trying to sneak back into his room without his flatmate noticing. Luckily he had taken clean clothes into the bathroom, so he didn't have to try to be James Bond butt-naked.  
  
He had almost made it there, his door in sight already, when the doorbell rang and startled Paul so bad he tumbled a photograph of George's mother that was on a chest of drawers and caused it to crash not so nicely on the floor. Within seconds from that George appeared into the hallway and broke into a huge smile.  
  
"Great to see ye out, mate! I was jus' 'bout to come and warn that we’re goin' to have a visitor, but I see ye already showered!" He hugged Paul before the poor and confused boy had any chances to defend himself.  
  
"Ew Geo, geroff me! Not gay,  _not gay_ , or have you forgotten??" Paul squirmed in George's hold but did enjoy the comfort a bit. But just a bit. Not that much he would have George clinging on him for the rest of the day.  
  
"Haven't, actually and that's why I'm not tryin' to seduce ye anymore." George just grinned, but let him go, probably only because their visitor was still behind the door.  
  
"Fuck off,” Paul smiled faintly and ducked his head, noticing the photograph on the floor and knelt down to pick it up while George waltzed to the door and waved it wide open, smiling like he had just got a _very good_ kisser into his hands. For a while Paul wondered seriously, if this all was about that, especially when he saw the person behind the door.  
  
He was the most striking young man Paul had ever seen. He had beautiful auburn hair that rested on both sides of his ears and from the top of his head were in a messy but stylish pile, a nose that wasn't too small or too big, but perfectly shaped and made him look a bit like he would be posh. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses but what Paul could see of his eyebrows under his hair, they were thick and bushy and just _perfect_. And then Paul remembered he wasn't, actually, a queer.  
  
He snapped his head on the photograph, fixed the frames and wished the warmness on his cheeks didn't mean he was blushing. That would be so embarrassing and he didn't need any more shitty happenings into his life. And from the way George beamed at the man and the man beamed at him and from the way they were soon hugging like their life depended on it, Paul came to a conclusion he really didn't want to see the rest of it, because every time George acted like that there was a fuck looming in the future.

So he stood up, placed the photograph on its place and was just about to hurry back into his room were the curtains were still closed and clothes were laying in piles when George let go of the man and grabbed Paul instead, swung his hands around Paul's neck and dragged him closer to the man that simply took Paul's breath away (even if he was, actually, straight).  
  
"Paul!" a Satan in his friend's form yelled. "This is John!"  
  
"Oh, um, er, nice to meet you,” Paul honestly tried to look at the man, but just simply couldn't. Maybe this was George's first (yes, first) boyfriend or something like that, and if it was so, Paul didn't want to have anything to do with him. Not that he would be weirdly jealous, no, why on earth would he be that..  
  
"Yeah, it is,” the man, John, smiled at him and offered his leather-covered hand, which made Paul pay attention to how their visitor was dressed. He had an old leather jacket, leathery gloves and normal jeans. In his feet he had black Converses and he had a bag on his back, made of brown leather. It looked like it was well and long used. (And why so much leather??? Why not clothes that didn’t look so damn _hot_??????)  
  
Paul took John's hand, shook it and tried to ignore all the strange feelings in the pit of his stomach that he got from touching the other's hand. He let go as soon as he could and turned to look at George, not standing the idea of looking at the man much longer.  
  
"So, who's he?" he asked, preparing himself to hear the answer and got surprised when the mischievous glint in the other's eye just grew.  
  
"Ye haven't told him?" John said and Paul, for the sake of all things holy, felt himself shiver from head to toe. For God's sake, _what was happening_?? It couldn't be this stranger's voice causing this, it had to be caused by the fact he hadn't eaten much, and now that he thought about it, it had to cause everything else too. There were no other explanations why he suddenly couldn't even bear to look at the man; he was just so hungry everything seemed to be just like a weird dream... Maybe he was dreaming?  
  
"No, he's been hidin' from me,” George pouted and Paul knew it wasn't a dream, because even in his dreams George couldn't be as annoying as he was in real life (his dream George usually jumped in whatever he was doing and ruined it, just like he would in real life. But Paul could always fix things in dreams. Unfortunately that wasn't an option in reality).  
  
"All 'cos of that MacBook?" John's voice was full of curiosity, amusement and laughter. Paul felt a bang in his chest when he realised that these two had probably laughed behind his back all this week. He tried to shake George off of his back, but didn't succeed. The guy did know how to hold onto people that wanted to shrug him off (he had had plenty of practise on Paul, unfortunate to confess). He felt his friend nod and tighten his hold on Paul.  
  
"Don't run, Paul. Yeah, that stupid computer caused all this. He doesn't even talk to me anymore,” Paul heard his friend sniff and he rolled his eyes, glancing at John. He saw him looking at him, and when their gazes met (Paul wasn't sure, because sunglasses were still on the way) John smiled at him so brightly Paul's legs almost gave in and his heart started to race so fast he was afraid of having a heart attack.  
  
"That a shame. Good thing I can maybe repair it then?"  
  
What. What was happening.  
  
"Yeah, indeed. Hey, c'mon in an' don't jus' stand stupidly there,” George was beaming again and then he was dragging Paul further into their apartment, going on and on about the weather. Paul heard John laugh from where he had been left to take off his clothes (only his jacket, Paul bit his lip and mentally kicked himself for even wishing something more) and concluded this being some kind of an inside joke between these two.  
  
George pushed him down on the sofa and patted his head, smiling brightly. It really looked like some of his biggest plans ever were going to success.  
  
"Seriously, Geo, what's this all about?" Paul snapped at him, too tired and too used on snapping at his friend to talk politely. George just grinned, the bastard he was.  
  
"John's me long time friend... Nothin' else,” he then said and threw himself on the sofa, next to Paul, crossing his arms behind his neck and smiling widely. Then he suddenly leaned closer to Paul and lowered his voice, so John couldn't hear (he was currently trying to decide where to put his gloves):  
  
"If ye wond'red, I saw how ye looked at 'im,” he winked and pulled back to his own space, leaving Paul sitting there, mouth opened and eyes widened.  
  
"What d'you mean, I didn't—“ he started, was ready to throw all the excuses he could think, but somehow nothing came to his mind. He had no _good_ excuses. But then, George must have been just teasing him... But then again, you never knew with him.  
  
"Yeah yeah, sure,” George's expression was so smug Paul thought it wouldn't be even possible. "And for ye to know, he's straight too. I said 'e's me friend 'n nothin' else, did I?"  
  
Paul was just about to answer something very rude, when his thoughts were interrupted by footsteps that came their way. John peeked into the living room as to make sure they were there and broke into a grin as soon as he saw them. And Paul saw his eyes.

They were beautifully brown and it felt like their gaze would have pierced through _everything_. They shone with general joy towards the  _world_ and they were clever. Really, really clever. Paul found himself thinking that he could stare into those eyes for hours and wouldn't get bored. There was something in them that drew his gaze on them again and again and he wished he would never have to stop looking at them—  
  
George's elbow nudged his side painfully hard and he jumped, turned his eyes on George and was just about to start questioning what the hell, when he noticed the other's expression.  
  
George looked like he was about to burst from something and after their latest chat, Paul didn't have to guess twice what it was. He felt a faint blush creep up onto his cheeks and he wished more than anything that he would have never left his room today.  
  
"Okay, so,” John came into the living room and sat down onto a chair placed on the other side of the couch table. Now that the man didn't have his leather jacket on anymore, Paul saw he wore a simple black jumper and he had to say it looked good on John. Even though Paul wasn't queer. He couldn't be.  
  
"Yeah,” George smiled and turned his eyes from Paul to John."How have ye been? It's been so long since we saw each other!"  
  
"You still lived with your dear mummy and daddy, how're they by the way?" John grinned and Paul quickly looked away, feeling that he couldn't handle that smile yet. Maybe he just had to get used to it.  
  
Wait. Was he planning on seeing this guy again? No way, not with this kind of shivers the thought send up and down his spine. Maybe it wasn't that he was queer? Maybe he had just hated John from the first sight?  
  
But hate didn't make his knees go weak when the other did so much as even looked at him.  
  
"Oh, jus' fine I think,” George answered and leaned on the sofa's backrest, "'n yer aunt?"  
  
"Don't mention her, she'll find out,” John waved his hand and he and George snickered together in a slightly nervous way, leaving Paul totally out of whatever was going on.  
  
"Probably she would... You still with Cyn?"  
  
Paul didn't know why he suddenly froze and his hearing sense suddenly felt it had got two times better. Why was he afraid of hearing the answer?  
  
"Yeah,” John answered and sighed deeply, "can't break up with her just yet."  
  
Paul didn't know what his feelings were doing, because first he felt something really icy drop into his stomach, hearing John had someone, but then there was a totally opposite emotion, warm and nice when getting to know that they were about to break up. And then the horrible feeling that almost made him sick when he realised he was happy about the fact that two people were about to stop dating.  
  
"Why's that?" George asked, raising his eyebrows and staring straight at John, as if sensing something Paul didn't have a clue about.  
  
"Ah,” the man on the other side of the couch table waved his hand vaguely, "it's just not going so well anymore and she's starting to feel like an extra weight in my life."  
  
George nodded sympathisingly and sighed too. "Can't say I know the feelin' but Paul here surely does, don't ye?"  
  
Paul jumped a bit but recovered fast, took a deep breath before putting on his best smile and turning to George, raising his other eyebrow:  
  
"Yes I do, just thinking about you makes me wanna jump off the nearest cliff."  
  
John threw his head back and laughed and God, if that laugh wasn't the most beautiful thing Paul had ever heard. And he had caused it. He felt his chest swell and knew he was going mad. Not queer, and John was straight too, he reminded himself, but it was no use when John looked at him eyes shining and Paul knew he would faint if that continued.  
  
"So George got you here to repair my ex-computer?" he managed to ask, knowing the sooner this man was done with the work, the sooner he would be out of their house and out of Paul's life. Was that good or bad, Paul couldn't say, but he decided it was good. These feelings were bad.  
  
"Yeah, the one that shat on yer face,” John said with all seriousness and Paul cracked up.  
  
And it felt so _good_ to laugh, and especially to something John had said. He felt relieved; he knew nothing about this man, but he seemed to be sure that he could repair Paul's computer and that was enough for Paul to like him, for now; But not in a queer way, of course, because Paul was no queer.  
  
"Ey, no fair! I've been tryin' to get 'im to laugh for _days_!" George managed to look hurt but couldn't cover his satisfaction; also he still looked like his biggest plans were going to be grandly succesful and Paul didn't want to know what these plans were. It surely had something to do with Paul being happy, maybe? They were best friends, after all.

Maybe.  
  
"Good thing I'm here then, ain't it?" John winked and Paul knew he was probably blushing again, but for once it didn't matter, because he could always tell the others (and himself) it was caused by the fact that he was laughing his arse off. He leaned over the sofa's armrest and buried his face into his hands, letting out weird snorting voices when trying to control his laugh. He didn't know if it was those noises or his laughing that got John and George laugh too, but soon they were all trying to stop it, gasping for breath and holding their stomachs. They almost got it to end, but then John looked at Paul and Paul looked at John and Paul thought he had never seen anything so perfect than John eyes bright and cheeks flushed and then they were roaring again.  
  
And at that moment, Paul truly wished that this wouldn't end at the moment his computer was well again; maybe he and John could really be friends?  
  
Did he remember to mention that he was not a queer?


	2. George Shows That He Is Still The Same Slut

After having a good time laughing and talking about random stuff George complained about being hungry and due to their inability to make food at the moment (the fridge was singing hosanna, so empty it was), they decided to order pizza and only after that would John take a look at Paul's computer. Now they were waiting for the food to arrive and because it turned out George simply _had_ to take a shower, it left John and Paul to sit in the living room, John looking at the walls with faint curiosity and Paul staring at his fingers, afraid of what would happen next. And he still didn't know what George was up to, because it was plain that the lad _didn't_ need a shower, actually. Paul knew well George had washed himself this morning.  
  
Few painful and tense (from Paul's point of view) minutes passed before John talked and got the younger man (he had heard that John was two years older than him, or one and a half and wondered how on earth had John and George got to know each other) to startle _again_. He didn't want to know what John though about him by now.  
  
"So,” the loveliest voice in the whole universe spoke, "what d'you do with your ex-love?"  
  
Paul suppressed a laugh and smiled, lifted his legs on the sofa, wrapped his arms around his knees and ducked his head, looking somewhere beyond the lamp.  
  
"I write,” he simply answered, not daring to look at John at the moment. If he acted the hole in the roof was more interesting than the man over the couch table, maybe these fucking butterflies in his chest would leave.  
  
"Write what, exactly?" John sounded honestly curious and Paul allowed himself to glance at the other, smiling when meeting his eyes. John smiled too and that gave Paul a bit more courage and weak knees.  
  
"Poems. And I'm tryin' to write a book but it'll never be anythin'."  
  
John's eyebrows arched and he nodded slowly.  
  
"Get my respect with that, you do."  
  
"Thanks,” Paul grinned and glanced at the window, wondering if he should ask about that weather inside joke thing George and John had. "What d'you do then?"  
  
"I write too,” John smiled, "poems, sometimes, but mostly short stories for newspapers an' such. I could never write a whole book,” he grimaced and crossed his arms on his chest.  
  
"What kind of stories?" Paul asked and forced himself to look at John, now the curiosity winning over the feeling he was going to be doomed even if his computer started working. John looked a bit uncomfortable and scratched his neck.  
  
"Um, just rubbish. Nothin' much."  
  
"Aw, c'mon!" Paul tilted his head and smiled mischievously. "Give us some details!"  
  
"Ha, no, your ears would start bleeding,” John snorted but then laughed, and Paul laughed too, the tension slowly leaving his shoulders.  
  
"I'll find out someway,” he grinned and winked at John without realising doing so before it was too late. John just smiled at him and shook his head.  
  
"Nah, you won't, sweetie. I'll burn them all up."  
  
"You wouldn't"  
  
"I would, though."  
  
"If you do I’ll send a hungry George to you in a letter."  
  
"No, _anything_ but that!"  
  
They both laughed and were just about to continue this ridiculous argument when John's phone suddenly rang. His expression got serious within seconds and he took the phone from his pocket. Surprisingly it was an old Nokia, the kind of you could drop from the 5th floor and the asphalt would get more hurt than the phone itself. Paul doubted it could be used on anything but texting and calling and he wondered how John could have that kind of a phone when he claimed to be able to repair a bloody MacBook Air.  
  
"Hello Cyn,” John answered, shoulders tensing and expression changing from annoyed to something that looked like he was holding something back; maybe a sob but Paul couldn't tell, neither did he understand.  
  
John listened few seconds what the female voice on the other end (Paul heard it quite well, thank you very much (he’d die if he had a phone like that)) talked and then interrupted her, closing his eyes with a frown:  
  
"No, I said I don't know yet. Might as well stay overnight 'cos it's been so bloody long since I last saw that fuckin' unsocial son of a bitch."  
  
Paul had to suppress a laugh once more but he knew exactly whom John was talking about. That same unsocial son of a bitch that had now locked himself up into the bathroom, doing God knows what (and Paul didn't want to know). He decided to skip the other feeling in his stomach that came from the idea that John would stay overnight.  
  
The woman said something more and John sighed, rubbing his nose between his eyes and lowering his head, looking suddenly very tired and few years older than he really was (he hadn't turned 24 yet, at least what Paul knew).  
  
"Listen, hun, I know and I'm sorry, but George asked my help and I'm gonna give it, no matter how long it'll take."  
  
Paul looked away from John, bit his lip and turned his face just when the living room door opened and George walked in, raising his eyebrows asking a silent question. Paul just shrugged, not quite knowing what his friend wanted to know. George looked like he had taken a shower; at least his hair was wet (as was Paul's, he suddenly realised, not that much anymore though). But Paul didn't remember hearing the water running..? Maybe he had just been too occupied with their chat (not with John's eyes, definitely not) to not notice.  
  
"I don't know,” John sounded now exhausted and glanced at Paul, as if pleading for help and Paul just didn't know anything about anything anymore, he was just too confused to even think...  
  
"Tell that I need the computer as soon as possible and that you have to get it repaired and you don't know how soon it's done,” he blurted out, and it was the truth, really. Not that he had that urgent reason to get his hands on the keyboard again, but they didn't need to tell it to this 'Cyn' person, right?  
  
John nodded at him, looking grateful and then repeated what Paul had said, adding 'I can fucking spend time with my lost an' forgotten friend if I want to' with those exact words.  
  
"I'm lost 'n forgotten?" George whispered into Paul's ear and sent them both into a fit of giggling.  
  
"Shh, he's on the phone!" George then managed to say and placed his hand on Paul's mouth, preventing him from laughing. Unfortunately it didn't stop himself to let out any noises and soon Paul was simply laughing because George's attempts to stop his own snorting were so poor.  
  
"Yeah, he _was_ on the phone,” they heard John say and he was found smiling, flicking his phone into his pocket and no hints of irritation on his perfect (no, Paul didn't think that) face anymore. He was about to ask something about that lady on the other side of the phone when the doorbell rang for the second time that day and George jumped into action, yelling 'God bless food' and disappeared as fast as he had appeared. Paul smiled fondly after him and stood up, turning to face John and grinning at him.  
  
”An old Nokia,” he pointed out and John raised his eyebrows before chuckling and getting his phone out again.  
  
“Yeah,” he waved it in the air, “For phone calls and texting. I do have an iPhone for playing.”  
  
“Temple Run 2 with Usain Bolt?” Paul asked hopefully and John laughed, nodding his head. Paul clapped his hands excitedly. “Can I try sometime?”  
  
“Yeah,” John said again and laughed some more at Paul’s childish enthusiasm. Paul chuckled too and then sighed, his lips still spread to a wide smile.  
  
"Guess I need to make you a bed, then?"  
  
John's smile was (once again) blinding and Paul found himself so doomed.  
  
"Yeah, unless you wanted me to sleep in the stairs?"  
  
Paul threw his head back and laughed, not answering anything. Maybe this was going to be fun after all, even if his legs felt a bit wobbly. And he still couldn't tell any other reasons than John.  
  
He fucking hated his life, but at the moment it didn't matter.

***~**~***

George stood behind the living room door, listening to the happy and animated chat that was going on between two of his very good friends. He felt a smile form on his lips and he turned his eyes on his iPhone when it suddenly buzzed, telling him he had a new message from Ringo.

  
  
George grinned and chose Ringo's number, sneaking into his own room, closing the door, hoping the other two wouldn't realise he was 'using the bathroom' a bit longer than normal people would (not that his 'showering' would have been really showering, either, but texting with Ringo). He threw himself on his bed and placed the phone on his ear, ready to burst from excitement.  
  
_"'Lo!"_ came Ringo's telephone voice from the other side of the phone and George found himself smiling at his long-time friend, even if he couldn't see him.  
  
"Hi ol' buddy! Ye ready to hear ev'rythin'??"  
  
_"You bet!"_ Ringo's voice was more or less enthusiastic.  
  
"Okay,” George grinned from ear to ear, "here comes:"  
  
"So, this is the deal: Paul's computer crashed, y'know that."  
  
_"How could I not, the whole internet does."_  
  
"Ha. Well, what the Internet _doesn't_ know is that Paul got pretty sulky and depressed 'n all that, and I knew I had to do somethin' for him, 'e's me friend anyway."  
  
_"A real surprise, that is."_  
  
"Fuck off,” George scratched the back of his neck and glanced at his watch: 17 o'clock. "But yeah, I've got loads of friends 'n I knew there was someone that could repair a bloody MacBook Air so I went through me name list and came across John."  
  
At this, Ringo whistled lowly and George laughed, relaxing against his mattress. Ringo, after all, knew both Paul and John and was well aware of George's next thoughts, as the younger boy had texted him from the bathroom earlier this day. And this was something they both totally agreed.  
  
"I fuckin' knew it at the moment they met!" George started giggling, "I mean, ye should've seen Paul's face! I wish I had courage to take a photo of it! And I bet he thought John was me first boyfriend, so I thought I should tell 'im it wasn't so."  
  
_"And he believed?"_  
  
"Well, not first I think but then I asked 'bout Cynthia and I think Paul would've gone into his room to cry if John hadn't said they were 'bout to break up." George knew laughing to this wasn't fair, at least if he thought about Cynthia, whom he liked very much and who had always treated George nicely, even if George was always a bit shy around her. At this moment though he couldn't care less of John's soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, as it was needed for his plan to work.  
  
_"Good thing it came up then, or did you plan it too?"_  
  
"Planned it. But yeah, you should see them! Are ye with me in this?"  
  
_"Sure. It's gonna be interestin'!"_  
  
"Ye bet! It wouldn't be this fun if they were gays, though," George giggled and turned on his stomach, waving his legs in the air and imagining himself to be a teenage girl.  
  
_"Thank God they're not. Leaves us some work to do then."_  
  
"They're jus' made for each other, mate! They won't need us but I think we can speed things up a bit."  
  
_"Wanna make a bet how long will it take?"_  
  
"Don't have much money at the moment but yeah, why not? What's yer guess?"  
  
_"There's gonna be John's birthday..."_  
  
"Ohh I can't wait," George growled and Ringo laughed before continuing:  
  
_"...So I'd say that beginning of December is me guess!"_  
  
"That long? Bah, I'd say half way of October or the first week of November. Maybe after John’s birthday, if everythin’ goes accordin’ to the PLAN!!!"  
  
_"So it’s probably gonna be Christmas together anyway. And they’re gonna get a new year's kiss!_ ”  
  
"I’m so gonna photograph it!"  
  
_"Oh yeah, me too.”_  
  
“...”  
  
_“...You should be there with them by now."_  
  
"Yeah, probably..." George sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Then he smiled brightly and turned his head a bit, as if trying to make a closer contact with his dear friend (and quite often something more than just a ‘friend’. A fuck buddy sounded good)).  
  
"See ye 'round then, Rings."  
  
_"I've got no work on Thursday, it's then I guess?"_  
  
"Definitely. Bye, love ye!"  
  
_"I love you too, mate."_  
  
With that Ringo dialled off and George sat up, smiling stupidly at his phone. He opened a new message window and wrote, _'u r gonna miss much when not being here'_. Then he put the key lock on and stuffed the phone into his jeans pocket, bounced up from his bed and slowly sneaked back behind the living room door, pushing his ear against it and smiling when he heard Paul and John talking about music. George had remembered right; they were both big Rolling Stones fans. He smirked and decided to give them a bit more time, sitting down next to the door, leaning his back against the wall.  
  
It was time to put the plan into action, meaning PaulandJohn was going to be his biggest OTP now because Merlin had ended. Because they were meant for each other and even George's mother's fish could probably see it. Not that he cared, he was a fish. But George did care, and this was going to be grand, and he and Ringo were going to get Paul and John together no matter what. Even if the victims of their cruel plan wouldn't want it, which George highly doubted. Not with that entire eye fucking going on in the next room.  
  
His phone buzzed and he took it out, opening Ringo's message. Then he banged his head on the wall and muffled his laugh with his hand, not being able to control his shaking with a voiceless roaring.

***~**~***

John took a long drag of his cigarette and leaned on the edge of the terrace, watching the sky full of clouds. It had been a great day, having fun with George and... Paul. He had found himself quickly fascinated of the dark-haired young man that just seemed to have some of _that_ kind of charm in him. It was a wonder, really that Paul didn't have a girlfriend and John had felt somehow relieved to have heard that. It was a bit scary feeling, though.

He breathed the smoke in and sighed. He should even try to keep his promise for Ringo of not continuing to smoke.  
  
"Whatcha thinkin' mate?" a voice talked behind him and he turned a bit to face George, who silently closed the terrace door and walked next to him, taking a cigarette from his pocket.  
  
"Oh, not much. Just... things,” John turned his head away and puffed his cigarette few times in a row without caring of the upcoming lung cancer. He cursed silently when he almost _heard_ George's grin.  
  
"Things,” the bastard snickered and leaned his back on the balustrade, closing his eyes for a while and then looked at John with a wicked grin. John didn't want to know the reason behind that smile.  
  
"Yeah,” he nodded and glanced at the terrace door, causing George to almost choke with laughter. John pouted and turned his eyes back on the sky.

For a while it was a total silence, but then George nudged his side and John looked at him again.  
  
"Y'know, if ye wanted to take out yer heart now would be the moment, as Paul's asleep.”  
  
"Paul's sleepin'?" John glanced at the terrace door again and then back at George, raising his eyebrows.  
  
"Yeah, y'know, 's been a hard week an' everythin' an' now when ye said that ye can actually repair the bloody computer he's so fuckin' relieved you've got no idea,” his friend rested his head on John's shoulder, which was very George-ish and for a while John considered shaking him off, but eventually didn't do so. It was actually very comforting to have someone to lean on him like that. With Cynthia it had stopped being nice about six months ago and John knew he had to end things with her soon, but just couldn't bring himself to do it yet. Because he and Cyn, well, they had been pretty close and he knew it would break her totally.  
  
"You do know I'm straight?" John asked from George when the boy moved suddenly closer and brought his other hand to touch John's side, which didn't actually make John uncomfortable, but George _was_ drunk (of course, so was John, but he hadn't had time to drink that much because talking with Paul had been so much more interesting) and in this kind of an occasion John wouldn't be surprised if George forgot that they were, actually, just friends.  
  
"O' course,” George chuckled and leaned closer to John, his breath hitting John's throat and John rolled his eyes, turning his face away.  
  
"You're drunk, go home."  
  
"Can't, am there already."  
  
"Idiot."  
  
"Biiiggg-tittt."  
  
"Slutty arse."  
  
"Prat."  
  
"You watch too much Merlin."  
  
"Nah,” George hit him playfully on the head and nuzzled his cheek on John's throat, "I've got one more name for ye, donkey-dollop head."  
  
"Still too much Merlin." John really wasn't uncomfortable with George leaning his whole weight on John, hell, he wasn't too foreign with queer thoughts either and he had done his research at least when George himself had told he was bisexual. But he knew he was straight, because thinking queer sex didn't give him boners at all.  
  
"Here comes, you ready?" George whispered into his ear and John nodded, inhaling his cigarette and wondering would George faint if John kissed him. That would be probably the quickest way to get him to sleep and get rid of him.  
  
"You fuckin' _queer_ ,” George breathed and John felt shivers run through his spine. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned to face George, their mouths only inches apart. And when he opened his eyes he met George grinning, looking like he wasn't drunk at all. The younger man run few fingers through John's back and leaned even closer, so that it was difficult to see him clearly.  
  
"What d'you mean?" John mumbled quietly, the closeness not disturbing him at all (he had told he had done his research and he had done it with the certain person that was now in front of him and they had done much worse things than this). He actually found it still pretty reassuring, as someone he cared of and someone who cared of him still wanted to be close to him. With Cynthia it was hell, with George's comforting presence it was heaven, from time to time. Now it was heaven, probably hell in few hours.

With Paul it had been heaven to sit next to him on a sofa and examine his computer, to talk mechanic's language and to get Paul slap him just for not understanding what he had said.  
  
"Ye know what I mean,” George still got closer, their lips almost touching now. John rolled his eyes and pressed his forehead against George's, remembering that last time he had done this George had been shorter than him. Now they were both the same height and it felt weird, but nice.  
  
"Don't know,” he answered then and he and George breathed the same air and John felt an instinct to kiss him, just because it would feel nice to kiss someone you actually _loved_ , but...  
  
"Paul,” George smiled and closed his eyes, "don't pretend ye're already _not_ head over heels with 'im."  
  
"I'm straight and so's he,” John sighed, thinking it was a pity. Paul was, unfortunately, a man that made even heterosexuals turn gay, it seemed.  
  
"Well,” George was silent for a while, wrapping his other arm around John and pressing their bodies together, touching John's nose with his own, "'s not always 'bout that, y'know."  
  
And with that he pulled back, smiling somehow evilly and turned and went inside, leaving a totally bewildered John behind him.

***~**~***

Paul woke up sometime during the morning, head aching and some very bad taste in his mouth. When he stared at the wall he was facing, he realised he wasn't in his room, but in George's one. How he had got there, he didn't remember. But he had been drunk, after all, and he had been really tired and he couldn't actually remember what had happened yesterday...  
  
"Oh, ye're awake,” a familiar voice talked and he turned on his back, groaned and looked at George sitting on the bed next to him (They both had double beds, just because), his computer on his lap and a glass of water in his hand, the other typing something quickly on a Word document.  
  
"What're you doin'??" Paul grumbled and got up on his elbows, turning his face to the ceiling and revealing his throat to all of the people to see. George smiled joyfully and took a sip from his water.  
  
"Nothin' much, jus' a fic."  
  
"Of Merlin an' Arthur again? You're too obsessed with them two, man,” Paul turned to face the wall again and pulled the blanket over his head. He was just about to fall asleep again when the same question as earlier hit him...  
  
"What am I doin' here by the way?" he turned his head to look at George confusedly and widened his eyes. George laughed quietly and drank his water again before answering.  
  
"Well, y'know, 'cos ye fell asleep on the sofa before ye could make John a bed, I decided to kick 'im into yer room an' took ye 'ere."  
  
Oh. This was probably the most terrible news Paul had ever heard.  
  
"John is in _my_ room??"  
  
"Yeah, that right mate!" George's expression was cheerful and pleased and Paul had to ask himself why, _why_ was he George's friend???  
  
He jumped on his feet before George could let out any sound and trashed out of the room (he still had his yesterday's clothes on), just to run into John in the hallway.  
  
"Oops,” the water from the glass John had in his hand splashed against Paul's shirt and wetted it. Paul himself jumped away from John as if he had got an electric shock (wasn't too far from that, the feeling he got) and pressed himself against the wall, trying to calm his breath desperately, clutching his chest and closed his eyes, praying that he wouldn't faint.  
  
"You're awake." John sounded happy about it and smiled to him with all his teeth, making Paul's knees go weak _again_ and how he wished he wouldn't have to deal with wobbly legs in the morning.  
  
"Yeah, just got out from bed,” he mumbled and turned his head away, finding the photograph of George's mother suddenly very interesting.  
  
"George didn't jump on you in the middle of the night, then?" there was laugh in John's voice and Paul found himself smiling and then laughing, realising John probably knew well what it would be like to be George's friend _and_ be straight.  
  
"No, he learnt his lesson ages ago,” he grinned and John threw his head back and laughed that wonderful laugh again, and Paul found himself wishing he could always see John in the mornings like this, just gotten out of bed, hair messy and eyes still a bit sleepy and a bit of a stubble in his jaw.  
  
"Yeah, seeing as your room is papered with pictures of pretty girls,” John winked at him and Paul was blushing and _oh God_ he was _blushing_.  
  
"Bet your room would be likely the same if you didn't have one to look at,” he answered, playfully and lightly but he could feel the jealous banging of his heart _so_ well. He followed as John's eyes darkened and he took a sip of his water (what was left of it) before meeting Paul's eyes.  
  
They stared at each other and Paul felt his breath change to a heavy one and _ohmyGodnowayican'tgetturnedonbythatlooknopleaseno_ and...  
  
"Yeah, she'd certainly be pleased to take off her clothes for me, as the last time was few months ago,” John snorted and turned away, ready to head into the living room.  
  
"Wait, John,” Paul called and hurried behind him, taking a hold of John's wrist and feeling that same electricity again, "I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry."  
  
"No, I didn't mean it like that,” the older man answered and turned back to Paul, looking at him with wondering eyes, "it's alright. One thing I can't understand how is it that someone like you doesn’t have a bird to strip for you? You'd certainly have anyone you wanted."  
  
Paul let go of John's hand, first staring at John, then turning his eyes away. Well, it was a thing that bothered him, really. Of course he could get anyone he wanted, with this face. But the problem was, he didn't want to have short relationships, and he just hadn't...  
  
"I just haven't met the right lass,” he sighed and closed his eyes, "there's always somethin' missin'."  
  
John nodded sympathetically, even if Paul couldn't see it. For a while they stood in silence, only George's writing could be heard from his room where the door was left wide open. The clock was ticking on the wall and Paul glanced at it, thinking for a minute why on earth was he up at bloody 9 o'clock on a free day?? (He had told the university he was ill so he wouldn't be able to attend the lectures in a while or so and he didn't have any job at the moment.) Then he remembered the reason and slowly the panic started to rise in the pit of his stomach again. He turned his eyes on John, staring at him with pure horror and realisation.  
  
"You fuckin' slept in me room,” he whispered and knew his face was getting all pale. It was two times worse when John just laughed, looking at him with a weird expression.  
  
"Aye, and interestin' it was, gotta say. All those poems lying 'round the floor..."  
  
"You fuckin' didn't,” Paul felt his eyes widen and he was probably a ridiculous sight, but _if John had read his poems..._  
  
"No, I didn't,” John was laughing now so hard it was impossible for him to hold the glass so to avoid the water pouring out, he placed it on the chest of drawers next to George's mother and then leaned on the wall, held his stomach and _laughed_.  
  
"You bloody bastard!" Paul cursed and attacked, poking John everywhere he could. John just laughed even more while doubling over, eyes full of tears now. Paul continued his merciless attack and soon they were both laughing like there would be no end for it.  
  
"Breakfast?" John then managed to ask and Paul was happy to nod, pushing John in front of him and chasing him into the kitchen.

***~**~***

George's head peeped out of his room when their laughter echoed from the kitchen table and he smiled devilishly.  
He fucking knew he was going to win this bet.


	3. George Strolls Around While Being Mean

That day John explored Paul's computer as well as had fun with his old friend and his new one. Sometime during the day they went to shop for some food so they wouldn't have to live with pizza one night more. John surprised both of the other boys by cooking bacon and eggs with mastered moves and explained that when you lived with Cynthia, there was always a chance your food would get burnt brutally, so it was good if you had some skills to feed yourself.  
  
After they had eaten themselves full (and laughed their stomachs sore)(John and Paul had performed a dramatic puppet play with forks and knives and George had spilled his beer all over the table) George retreated into his room to do whatever he was doing (Paul and John had fair guesses about wanking but as they didn't hear anything they knew he was only writing about wanking) and the others two took over the living room, Paul sitting on the sofa legs crossed, writing something about how everyone should still DIE because he just couldn't be queer (he didn't answer when John asked what he was writing) and John sat on the floor, opening Paul's computer and starting to perform magical tricks that would make it work. He explained that he worked in an electrical equipment store and so it wouldn’t be a problem at all to get the needed components for free, as he was Best Friends Forever with the boss. At some point Paul stole his iPhone and played Temple Run 2, making a new highscore without caring about John’s whining of how it would take weeks for him to break it. Then they fell into a comfortable chatting about hot actresses and found out that they had the same favourites.  
  
About sometime around six George wandered from his room, looking like he had actually been writing about wanking and suggested that they should watch a movie, because he felt like it and besides he wanted to cuddle with John and Paul on the sofa. Paul and John found no reasons to complain and so they took out George's massive film collection and started to battle what movie they should watch.  
  
"But it's been ages since I last saw it!" George wailed with the Lord of the Rings -trilogy in his hands. Paul shook his head and looked at him sternly.  
  
"Yeah, about two weeks if I remember right. We're not gonna watch it now!"  
  
"But Paaaul!" George clutched the DVD-box onto his chest and pouted. John hid his face behind one of the Star Trek -movies so the others wouldn't see him laughing and Paul rolled his eyes, taking few films out of the cabinet and eyeing them with mild interest.  
  
"What about Star Wars then?"  
  
"Nah, just seen it."  
  
"Any Disney?"  
  
"Maybe some other time, I don't feel like watchin' princesses at the moment. Toy Story?"  
  
"No, no, I can't get through the third movie without cryin'."  
  
"What a pity we don’t have a DVD of the Hobbit."  
  
“Gotta buy it in the first place... Hey, this?"  
  
"NO. NEVER."  
  
"Brokeback Mountain?" George raised his eyebrows looking very innocent and took the movie from the cabinet, showing it to John who managed to resist the urge to roll his eyes but shook his head instead, smirking.  
  
"We all know all the kissin' between them blokes make you horny but I can't say the same 'bout myself."  
  
"It is a good movie,” Paul smiled at John's comment, "but I do cry at the end and I don't want to do it tonight." He leaned to explore the deepest corners of the cabinet and laid his eyes on one movie he hadn't seen in years. Weird, as it was one of his favourites.  
  
"Guys,” he smiled and snatched the dusty and old-looking video cassette out, "does our VHS player still work?"  
  
"Forrest Gump. I vote for that,” John grinned and stood up, "I'm gonna make some popcorn."  
  
"Yeah, we'll set ev'rythin' up,” George shouted after him and he and Paul cleaned the floor up, as it was covered with movies. They searched Paul's old video cassette player and plugged it to the television, laughing their arses off when they found a porn magazine behind it. By the time John got back with two bowls full of popcorn, Paul and George were arguing to whom the magazine belonged as neither of them could really remember and the television was still in the middle of the progress, as they hadn't yet found the right channel to play video cassettes.  
  
John placed the popcorn bowls on the sofa table and then took the remote control, sat on the sofa and found the right channel with the first try. The movie started to play and got the others two to stop their arguing and shut up. They too crawled on the sofa and as George had said, snuggled up to each other. John looked at them in silence for few seconds and then smiled, ducking his head and moving his eyes on the television screen, watched little Forrest dance on Elvis playing guitar.  
  
For about five minutes they went like that, Paul and George all huddled up and John all on his own, but George apparently decided it wasn't fair and pushed Paul towards John, causing him to fall on John's lap while George himself crawled closer to Paul, stopping him from sitting up.  
  
"George!" Paul hissed as Forrest was running in a football match, "What're you doin'?!"  
  
"It's not fair that Johnny here sits all on his own while we two 're havin' a sweet cuddle time,” George grinned innocently and allowed Paul to fix his position a bit, so that he was now leaning on John's armpit as the older man had had his hand over the sofa's backrest. John glanced at Paul, not quite knowing whether he should be amused, embarrassed, annoyed or something else and decided to play cool; he would never get over the shame if Paul realised what kind of feelings he caused inside John's chest, as those feelings had just grown up during the day and wouldn't leave him to peace.  
  
So he pulled Paul closer to him, hearing him let out a hitch-pitched noise and he could see George's beaming smile while Forrest was gathering his gun. Finally they all snuggled up to each other and continued to watch the film.  
  
The film went on smoothly, them enjoying it and John could hear no complaining from George that they had chosen this particular film. As excepted (in George's opinion) Paul finally cried when Forrest was talking to Jenny's grave in the end of the movie and when it ended both John and George laughed at him when he was wiping his eyes vigorously and tried not to start sobbing again when George started to imitate Forrest and repeat his words to Jenny.  
  
"Fuckin' bloody 'ell, George!" Paul finally managed to stop crying and cursed his friend to the deepest hole of hell. And George and John laughed again.  
  
They decided to go to sleep early, as the next day they could wake up earlier and use the whole day to do anything they wanted. Paul made John a bed on the sofa after George had said that John could sleep with him too, and both John and Paul had thrown him out of the living room. So George retreated into his cave taking his laptop with him and left Paul and John on the living room, John sitting on the floor legs crossed and Paul closing the curtains.  
  
"The sun shines inside in the mornin', so if you don't want to wake up that early the curtains must be closed,” he explained and smiled at John, who answered with a honestly intrigued expression.  
  
"How did you and George get to know each other?" he then asked and got Paul to frown, pausing in his job. How had it happened, again..?  
  
"I think..." he bit his lip and then chuckled quietly, "We went to the same school, y'know and then we just made friends with each other... He tried to flirt with me and then I told him I'm not a queer and then we became friends."  
  
John laughed and shook his head, mumbling something about 'typical slutty arse' and leaving Paul pretty confused but also amused with that.  
  
"What about you? You and George?" Paul closed the last curtains and turned to face John, once again marvelling the beauty of him before being able to stop himself.  
  
"Oh, nothin' interestin',” John waved his hand and smirked, "Went from Woolton to shop in the centre and there was only one seat left on the bus... that was next to him,” he scratched his neck and yawned before continued, "First it was just awkward, to sit next to a kid that kept starin' at me and then I snapped at him and guess what he said?"  
  
"What?" Paul sat on the sofa's armrest and raised his eyebrows, smiled eyes sparkling.  
  
"Sorry, but ye're jus' so stunningly handsome,” there was a voice from the door and they both lifted their faces, meeting George who was leaning on the doorstep, grinning from ear to ear, a phone in his hand and the other one resting on his side.  
  
"Really??" Paul's eyes widened and he might have laughed too. Both John and George nodded and then John continued, smiling with a way that was simply blinding:  
  
"I thought it a bit creepy first but then he told me he was bein' serious and then we started to talk about music and everythin' and I liked him a lot, so we got each other's names and numbers and were very good friends for years."  
  
"But I've never heard of you before,” Paul's brow furrowed and he looked at George, who smiled apologetically.  
  
"Well, I moved out from my aunt's house and George from his parents' and we kinda fell apart for a while, I didn't even know he too lived in London before now,” John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "We talked in Facebook, mostly, but it never occurred me to actually pick up a phone and call, 'hey, would you like to see me again?'"  
  
At that Paul smiled sympathisingly and stood up, stuffing his hands into his pockets.  
  
"Well, I do hope you two will keep in touch from this moment to the very eternity, 'cos if you didn't then it'd mean I’d never get to see you again,” he grinned, happy of the fact that the lighting was kind of dim and so prevented the others to see him blushing. He started to walk out of the living room, pausing on the door, meeting George's eyes who smirked at him dangerously. Paul didn't want to know.  
  
"Good night, then,” John smiled behind his back and Paul turned to face him, smiled back at him.  
  
"Yeah. Good night."

***~**~***

 

 

> From: George Harrison <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  To: "Richard S." <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  Subject: MY. FUCKING. GOD.  
>    
>  THEY ARE _SO_ IN LOVE u r gonna loose this bet ;DDDDdDD

* * *

 

> From: Richard S. <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  To: "George Harrison" <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  Subject: Re: MY. FUCKING. GOD.  
>    
>  NO WAY MAN tell me everything.

* * *

 

> From: George Harrison <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  To: "Richard S." <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  Subject: Re: Re: MY. FUCKING. GOD.  
>    
>  IT IS TRUE you should've seen them cuddle on the sofa yesterday ;) just way too cute i had some major OTP feelings and today, man they really are like a couple already!

* * *

 

> From: Richard S. <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  To: "George Harrison" <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  Subject: Re: Re: Re: MY. FUCKING. GOD  
>    
>  wait they cuddled on the sofa

* * *

 

> From: George Harrison <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  To: "Richard S." <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: MY. FUCKING. GOD.  
>    
>  ;D i'll explain tomorrow then

* * *

 

> From: Richard S. <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  To: "George Harrison" <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  Subject: that re-thing started to get on my nerves  
>    
>  ok. how much longer is john staying?

* * *

 

> From: George Harrison <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  To: "Richard S." <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  Subject: Re: that re-thing started to get on my nerves  
>    
>  he's gotta leave tomorrow morning and they're both sulking about it even if they won't confess if you asked. he'll take ex-love with him and bring it when it's repaired, he says it's an easy thing to do but needs some time, i dunno, he has to get some components first

* * *

 

> From: Richard S. <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  To: "George Harrison" <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  Subject: Re: Re: that re-thing started to get on my nerves  
>    
>  poor lovebirds. is paul paying for the stuff? or does john get it for free knowing his relationship with his boss

* * *

 

> From: George Harrison <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  To: "Richard S." <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  Subject: Re: Re: Re: that re-thing started to get on my nerves  
>    
>  uh i guess john will show up with the bill if there’s some costs

* * *

 

> From: Richard S. <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  To: "George Harrison" <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: that re-thing started to get on my nerves  
>    
>  or then doesn't cos he wants to be a gentleman

* * *

 

> From: George Harrison <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  To: "Richard S." <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: that re-thing started to get on my nerves  
>    
>  john a gentleman? sorry how have i not heard this before  
>    
>  oh but you're probably right

* * *

 

> From: Richard S. <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  To: "George Harrison" <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: that re-thing started to get on my nerves  
>    
>  see i'm always right

* * *

 

> From: George Harrison <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  To: "Richard S." <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  Subject: why did we use email to chat like this explain tome  
>    
>  say that only when he shows up with a flower bucket instead of the bill. c u tomorrow gonna get some sleep now ;)

* * *

 

> From: Richard S. <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  To: "George Harrison" <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  Subject: got no fucking idea you sent the first one  
>    
>  fine xD ok good idea i'm gonna fall asleep anyway. try to leave paul home when we meet please? don't want to put up with him at the moment

* * *

 

> From: George Harrison <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  To: "Richard S." <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  Subject: fucking WHERE DID MY MSN GO  
>    
>  you can with me then? ok night xD

* * *

 

> From: Richard S. <[rongzie@hotmail.com](http://omg)>  
>  To: "George Harrison" <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://yo)>  
>  Subject: GOT EATEN BY SKYEP  
>    
>  always can.

***~**~***

George smiled to himself, glancing at the watch and stopped the laugh that was threatening to come out when he saw that the midnight had been over two hours ago; the thing that was so amusing in the situation wasn't the fact that he was still up and on the computer, no, that was quite normal. The thing was that he was quite sure Paul and John were still awake. Last time George had checked them few hours ago before withdrawing into his room with a nice playlist on his iPhone and a good mood to write, they had been preoccupied with a deep conversation about John's relationship with Cynthia. It had started earlier that evening after she had called and told John _had_ to get home as his aunt was going to visit and had _insisted_ John would be there when she arrived. After the chat with her John had looked so close to tears that Paul had sat him down on the sofa and then they had just talked until George had got enough.  
  
He stood up, took off his earphones and placed them on the nightstand, put his computer to sleep, left it on his desk and then opened his bedroom door, squinting when the light from the hallway hit him. Apparently they were still awake, as Paul used to shut the lights down when he went to sleep.  
  
He tip-toed through their flat and paused at the living room door, pressing his ear against it.  
  
Silence. He smiled to himself and quietly opened the door, peeking in.  
  
Paul and John were asleep on the sofa, Paul's head on John's shoulder and John's head resting upon Paul's one. It had been an exhausting chat then, it seemed.  
  
George smiled widely and fumbled for his phone, praying that the other's wouldn't wake up. He snapped a photo without lightning and grinned even more when Paul let out a soft murmur and turned his head even more on John's shoulder, moving unconsciously a bit closer so that they were all pressed up. George took another picture and retreated.  
  
He was more than pleased with the way things were turning out. With Paul and John he probably had to do nothing, maybe just give a little push here and there. The thing he had to worry was, of course, Cynthia, because the sooner she and John broke up, the sooner would Paul and John have their marriage. And George _wanted_ to be the best-man. No buts.  
  
So he maybe had to do something with Cyn. And he knew well what.  
  
He switched off the lights in the hallway, sneaked into the bathroom and after releasing his bladder from a living hell made it to his room, jumped on his bed and wrapped himself up on his blanket without taking his clothes off. He might have to wake up quickly if he wanted to get a note of John's depart, never one knew what would happen in this kind of an occasion.  
  
He was quite sure Paul would weep into his shoulder like a fucking drama queen after the door was shut and John was gone.

***~**~***

It didn't actually happen like George had thought. When it was time for John to go, he just simply left (with George kind of forcing his OTP to hug) and Paul didn't actually cry against George, just sulked for the rest of the day and refused to talk with _anyone_ , when George suggested he could call to someone to share his problems about certain homosexual thoughts if he didn't want to talk with his flatmate. Paul however just told him to fuck off and so George did, dragged his computer into the kitchen and sat down on the table to write while Paul was once again closed behind his room's door and was now probably sitting on his bed muttering something really murderous about having George as his friend, as he usually did.  
  
When the clock neared 2 P.M George got up, stuffed his laptop into a bag and put a jacket on while trying to get his shoes on without having to tie his shoelaces of his Converses.  
  
"Paul, mate?" he called out and walked his other heel sticking out of the end of the other shoe, "I'm goin' out for few hours!"  
  
There was no response and George just decided it was the best if he just rolled his eyes and left. So he did. Only he shouted before closing the door, "Don't jump out of the window!" and he was sure he heard a 'fuck off' coming from somewhere in the flat. He chuckled to himself and eagerly paraded down the pavement to meet Ringo in the cafe.  
  
Ringo had been already waiting for him when he approached the coffee shop and waved at him eagerly. George felt his face lit up and he ran inside, threw himself into Ringo's waiting arms and for few minutes they were only a mess of arms and other limbs, hugging each other for dear life. Then they let go and George sat at the table, snuggled up to Ringo's side and let out a happy sigh when Ringo's hand wrapped itself around his shoulders and brought him closer, his head ending up resting on the older man's shoulder. For a while they just sat in silence, taking in the moment of meeting each other again. It had been almost three weeks since they last met and that was long, considering as they happened to live in the same city and talked everyday on the Internet or texted and talked on the phone.  
  
Then they finally started talking, and boy, did they talk. It wasn't an ordinary how-are-you-I'm-fine-thank-you-how's-your-family, no, they already knew all about what was going on in each other's life. They talked about their friends' latest affairs first but then somehow got lost on a conversation about the latest Merlin porn that had been released on AO3 and about its quality. George thought it wasn't that good; Ringo thought the plot wasn't anything new but it had been well written and especially the porn had been skilfully placed and it wasn't too overpowering and was definitely _not_ the main thing in the story, as it usually, unfortunately tended to be.  
  
"I don' know if I liked it,” George chewed his lower lip, trying to remember what had happened in the second part of the story. "I mainly like how they wrote Arthur."  
  
"Well yeah, I know you've been reading gay porn much longer than me, but I can say what is well written and what is not,” Ringo grinned and smiled at the waitress, who smiled back and George nudged at his side.  
  
"Maybe ye should check her out?"  
  
"Nah,” Ringo shook his head, "I already know her. She's a friend."  
  
"Pity, she's good lookin'."  
  
"Shut up you,” the big-nosed man laughed and poked George on his ribs before standing up. He started to head towards the bar and soon came back with two tea mugs, filled with Earl Grey Tea.  
  
"God save the Queen!" George exclaimed when he received his mug and blew the hot tea a bit to make it drinkable.  
  
"Indeed, and all the gays too, cheers,” Ringo grinned and they knocked their mugs together, shrinking into them few seconds after that.  
  
Few minutes they just drank their tea happily, but then Ringo couldn't wait anymore and brought up a subject he had been dying to ask since George had waltzed into the cafe.  
  
"So,” he started and waited for George to lower his tea mug, "Paul and John."  
  
He watched as a wolfish grin got plastered on his friend's face and sighed, shaking his head. Somebody was getting great kicks from this all.  
  
"They are jus' made for each other. Hey, here!" George suddenly jumped and reached for his pocket, fishing out his iPhone. Then he stabbed it few times with his middle finger and brought the screen then for Ringo to see. It showed a pretty dark picture of two figures all snuggled up on the sofa of the apartment Ringo knew very well...  
  
"Oh my fuckin' holy God,” he said and took the phone into his hand (yanked it, actually, from George) and zoomed the image with his fingers. "Oh my holy fucking _shitting_ God."  
  
"I know right??" George grinned from ear to ear, "I couldn't resist... There's another one. They jus' fell asleep into each other's arms, I've been fangirlin' over them the whole night."  
  
"How did they react when they woke up?" Ringo looked up at his face and George shrugged, a cloud passing on his expression.  
  
"I can't say, Paul was already in the kitchen when I woke up an' John left so soon after that... They did say friendly goodbyes."  
  
"More than friendly?"  
  
"Ye bet,” George looked smug and leaned closer to whisper into Ringo's ear, "I ‘accidentally’ pushed Paul into John's arms when they were gonna shake hands an' I think Paul's gonna kill me when it will really struck into him in few days but they did hug an' I got some major feels that I needed to get over an' so I wrote somethin' before comin' 'ere."  
  
"You didn't? I mean push him into his arms? Mate, you're dead when you meet John the next time."  
  
"I know??" George laughed and turned on his bench, taking his laptop out of his bag, "It's gonna be so great! Ye're gonna lose this bet my friend,” he winked at Ringo. "And you know what?"  
  
"What, tell me!!"  
  
"Ye know how John's always so fuckin' flirty with everyone an' gives witty comments an' is like, the one that people always notice from the group?"  
  
"Yeah??" Ringo's eyes glinted with interest and George opened his computer, placing one finger on his chin and rested his head there, looking at Ringo mischievously.  
  
"Not even one single flirtin' comment at Paul, even if there was a chance. I think he called him sweetheart at one point but that's all. That must mean somethin'."  
  
Ringo looked like he was exploding from excitement and George decided it would be the time now. So he motioned his friend to come closer and opened Word in his computer.  
  
"Wanna read?" he asked and pushed the screen towards Ringo, snatching his phone back from the other. Ringo took the computer in front of him, glanced at it and then smiled widely.  
  
"Shit, this is gonna be great."  
  
"I know, I told ya that! D'ye mind if I text with Mark?"  
  
"Lynch?"  
  
"No, another, guess ye don’t know him. I might have a fuck in sight."  
  
"Don't let me bother you,” Ringo waved his hand, already reading the fic. George grinned, leaned on the backrest of his chair and his fingers started quickly tap the words into the screen of his iPhone.


	4. George Is A Pimp

John wanted to die.  
  
Well, not really die, not in the real meaning of the words but he wanted to _die_ , because he was so much doomed.  
  
It had been few days since he had left George and Paul's flat and he was already going mad. When his aunt Mimi (the old dragon, ugh) had left he had locked himself into his working room (when he didn’t have his job, of course) and he had repaired Paul's computer in a day. Not so much work in that, really.  
  
What bothered him the most _and_ made him mad and dead were all the photos of Paul that he had accidentally found while checking if there were any errors on the hard disk. Apparently the lad and George had had a bit of fun with the camera of the MacBook, and so iPhoto was full of them pulling funny faces.  
  
John leant back in his chair and rubbed his neck, stretching his arms a bit after that. He heard a meow coming from behind his back and he turned to look at Creature, his Siamese cat that had more ego than George and Ringo combined. Creature jumped on his lap with a meow and he started scratching her head absent-mindedly.  
  
He laid his eyes back on the computer screen and sighed. There really was something in Paul that made him carve his presence and few days staring at the photos of his face made John feel very uncomfortable. He had to see Paul (and George, he tried to convince himself) soon.  
  
But it was harder to be in Paul's presence than he could imagine. Usually he was all flirtatious with people he knew (and also with those he didn't) and could cruelly make fun of anything actually. Only, now he had been just so... lame. He wondered what kind of a picture he had left of himself and he certainly knew that George had noticed, as nothing could pass by the little bastard without him taking a note. Sometimes John wished him dead. Or himself.  
  
He turned in his office chair trying not to bother Creature and stared out of the window. It was a beautiful day, really a miracle in the everyday raining London. It would be a great pity if he just stayed inside, staring at the photos of a man that was, unfortunately (no, he did not think that, he mentally kicked himself) as straight as can be, and John had no chances to even try to change his _own_ mind, because well, he was straight too.  
  
_'I don't even want a sexual relationship with him_ ,’ he tried to look convincing and let his gaze roll to the photo on the computer screen again, _’Jus' his company. I just wanna be his mate_.’  
  
But he knew he couldn’t fool himself with thoughts like that. He was attracted to Paul, _that_ was clear. He wanted to know how Paul would look after waking up, hair all messed up and eyes half-closed. He wanted to hear how Paul would sound when he complained about everyday things. He wanted to feel how Paul would squirm when John made love to him.  
  
He sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes with his palms. He couldn’t possibly have these thoughts. He and Paul were supposed to be in a friendship. They could become best friends, John was sure of that. They already had the potential for that.  
  
But he wanted to have Paul closer; wanted to talk to him whenever he wanted. But the problem was that there was really no way that after repairing the computer he would have a good reason to talk with Paul. He just couldn’t go up to their door without getting George all over-excited about his fantasies of something that had something to do with John and Paul. The only thing that connected him and Paul was the computer and John really didn’t know what to do. How could he possibly get a new reason to keep in touch with Paul without it seeming too creepy?  
  
And then an idea popped out from nowhere and he frowned. It wasn’t what he usually did with computers but it would certainly be possible, with John’s skills and everything. It would give Paul a reason to talk with John and a reason for John to talk more with Paul. It would be cruel. And it would be also fun. Really fun. And really, really creepy. But fun.  
  
An evil grin broke its way on his face before he could stop himself and he leant over the table, tracing his fingertips over the keyboard of the laptop (Creature protested of the loss of his hand) before opening the boot menu and starting to type frantically.  
  
He had always known that it would be useful to be able to hack things.  
  
He just hoped Paul wouldn't freak out.

***~**~***

Paul was freaking out. This was the third time. _Third_ time when something like this happened. And he didn't like it one bit. He didn't know if it was a bug or something similar to it, but, he didn't like it. Or well, maybe he did. But he was freaking out and that was no fun.  
  
It had been the very next day since he had gotten the computer back from John (who had left it to George while Paul had been out shopping with Jane, one of his ex-girlfriends who had managed to remain as his friend, which Paul was very thankful of) when the first one had appeared. He had been checking his photos, making sure all of them were there (John had said he had checked them as well, in a note he had left, and Paul wasn't admiring his handwriting, no, not at all, but he couldn't say if they all were there) when suddenly the screen had turned blue and there had been one single sentence in the middle of it.  
  
_I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together_  
  
And that was it. Paul had freaked out, of course, and called George to look, who had just looked at the screen and his expression had been so delighted Paul wanted to punch him. Some day he would. Then he had just commented, 'call John here again to repair it, I know ye want it' and left and Paul just sat there and stared at the sentence that made no sense.  
  
Well, he had thought it would be a passing thing. He had written it down, only because he liked it. He discovered that the thing left and the screen turned back to normal when he pressed enter and so he had continued going through his photos again, eyes glancing at the paper that had the words in it now every now and then.  
  
He had sent John a message in Facebook later and it took three hours from him to answer. The lad claimed that he knew nothing about it and said that he could drop by to check the computer in case he had done something wrong. Paul said no and told that as long as it wouldn’t seem to harm the computer, he could cope with it.  
  
But it turned out he couldn't.  
  
It had been the same evening when it happened for the second time. This time he had been checking the settings when the screen suddenly turned green and Paul almost fell off of his chair and there was a sentence that made, again, no sense.  
  
_see how they run like pigs from a gun see how they fly_  
  
This time he didn't tell George. He told nobody. He just wrote the sentence down and pressed enter and the whole thing disappeared. The settings had not changed at all. It seemed that there was nothing wrong.  
  
But he decided -just in case- to shut down the computer and go to sleep and so he did. The next morning he had woken up and had eaten some breakfast (George had made eggs and it tasted marvellous, as that probably was the only thing George could cook) and then he had played the guitar for a while before he sat on his bed and took his computer on his lap and opened it.  
  
It had happened almost immediately. He had logged in and had managed to get a glimpse of his background (he, George and Ringo in the London eye last year, all of them pulling funny faces at the camera) when the screen turned to pink and there were two words that freaked him out.  
  
_I'm crying._  
  
So that was the reason why he was being kind of jumpy. He didn't get it. Was this some kind of a thing that Apple sent to the people that didn't use Apple shops to repair their computers? Had John done something wrong? What was happening? He wrote it down, under the two earlier sentences and looked at them. They still made no sense. Maybe he should talk with George?  
  
Or maybe it was better that he kept it to himself, as it didn't seem to harm the computer and he still wanted to find out why it happened. So he opened Google Chrome and wrote 'Mac bugs' on Google.  
  
He found nothing that would compare with his experience. This was something so different he was freaking out. He had said that already. But he was still freaking out.  
  
Suddenly his Skype account alarmed that johnfuckinglennon had just signed in. George had added Paul as John's friend from his own computer, much without Paul's agreement, but when it was already done he was not going to delete John from his friends. And it was better to talk via Skype than Facebook, as Paul didn't use Facebook that much. Skype was much nicer.  
  
He opened the program and stared at the green available-sign before double-clicking John's Skype name and it opened a window to the chat.

  
There was a tiny pause where Paul could see John was writing. Then he suddenly stopped for a moment, erased what he’d done and then wrote again. Paul wondered what might have been the reason behind it.

After that John went offline and Paul sat for few seconds totally still, staring at their chat. Then a smile started to form on his lips and he went to his Skype settings and changed his name to Pula Mcartney.  
  
That would give his parents something to ask about.

***~**~***

John crawled downstairs of his Aunt's house Mendips and slumped on the sofa with a heavy sigh. If he only managed to avoid blurting out that it was him who had caused the screen thing, his plan might even work.  
  
He just hoped there'd be no one on the way for their fast-forming friendship.  
  
With a groan that Mimi heard quite well, thank you, he got up and went to pull on his jacket. At least he had his iPhone's battery full to entertain himself while Mimi would go on with her sister about how everything in the world was wrong, including John, and how Mimi would know how to fix it up if only someone listened to her. John hated to see old relatives.  
  
He could try and break that highscore Paul had done on Temple Run 2. His fingers itched and he had to stop himself from pulling out his phone to actually start playing right away.  
  
He knew he'd never break the highscore, but it was better to even try, eh?

***~**~***

"Paul, I know it's all fun an' nice to have yer loved one back, but ye could come out from yer room for a chance,” George knocked on Paul's bedroom door and glanced at Ringo who was standing by his side, giving him a wink, "there's someone here wantin' to see ye."  
  
It had been about five days when they had last met and now Ringo had came straight from work to say hello to George and perhaps hear some John-related thoughts from Paul, without George giving his own version that could be a bit too overreacting when it was about normal glances and smiles.  
  
For a while it was all quiet and George took a chance to hug Ringo for the millionth time since he had arrived, as Ringo was his very official snuggle-buddy. Not that he would snuggle everyone that was within few yards (and sometimes snog as well).  
  
The door opened and Paul blinked his eyes at the sight of George hugging with Ringo. Then a grin broke its way on his face and he stepped into the hallway, leaned on the wall, hands in his pockets.  
  
"Long time no see,” he then said and Ringo somehow managed to struggle away from George, only to receive an armful of McCartney. They hugged for few minutes before George complained that it was his turn already and Paul and Ringo parted, laughing almost manically. Their friendship had always been simple and straight and they didn't feel uncomfortable around each other in any situations; not even when Paul had walked in on Ringo and his cousin fucking on the sofa in That Party That No One Is Allowed To Talk About. He had just backed away and they had laughed it off the next morning (the same could not be said of Ringo's cousin, who was a nice person but could not handle one-night affairs).  
  
With George glued on Ringo's side and Paul walking in front of them, they headed into the living room and sat on the sofa, all three squeezing on it and trying to get as much space as they could, each of them. Finally they ended up George's head on Ringo's lap, Paul's back comfortably (or not) against the armrest and legs over the backrest and Ringo was in the middle, slowly running his hands through George's hair as he was talking to Paul.  
  
"I heard you an' John met,” he said with eyes twinkling and Paul bit his lip, glancing at the chair that John had used when he had been there. He still couldn't sort out his feelings.  
  
"Yeah, kinda..." he answered, avoiding the eye contact and shifting a bit, trying to get a better position as his back was kind of dying, "he was okay."  
  
That was a good, neutral comment. Nothing that Ringo would question. He would assume that Paul had thought John okay instead of magnificent, amazing, great, fun, handsome (no, no, he erased that one. Or didn't. He might have underlined it) and all that kind of adjectives. And that would raise no suspicions that Paul might have felt something different towards John. No, of course he did not feel anything different. He just... felt something _really_ different.  
  
"Okay?" Ringo raised his eyebrows and Paul might have sworn under his breath, because apparently Ringo wasn't satisfied with his answer.  
  
"Okay. Pretty nice. All right,” he shrugged and panicked when George glanced at him first and then opened his mouth to say something that would ruin Paul's life.  
  
"Okay." Ringo frowned, "I thought you'd be sayin' much more, as John is one of the most amazing people I've ever met."  
  
"Does he beat me?" George asked and looked at Ringo, winking at him when Ringo looked back at him. The oldest of them shook his head and laughed.  
  
"No way that my precious little Georgie would come as a second."  
  
George looked smug and nuzzled his head against Ringo's crotch. Not that he was going to do anything. No, not in front of Paul, after all. Maybe after he had gone to sleep.  
  
"But seriously, what do ye think of him?" Ringo smiled at Paul, wholly ignoring his randy best friend/fucking buddy/favourite writer/internet friend. Paul sighed and rubbed at his eyes.  
  
"Seriously, I don't know. He's not bad. Fun."  
  
That seemed to satisfy Ringo and Paul wanted to shout that John was the best person he had ever met but managed to keep his mouth shut, as it wouldn't do him good to say it out loud. Not that George (and by that way, probably also Ringo and half of the Internet) knew what he really thought.  
  
He was so fucking doomed.

***~**~***

George scrolled down his saved documents and smiled when he found a folder he had been looking for (using the search would be so much easier but hey, where would be the excitement of trying to find something you weren't sure existed anymore?). It was named _MSN_ and he opened it with a double click. There were all his saved chats with different people, as he had deleted his MSN account few months ago when it had joined Skype. Now he opened the folder that said _bby_ and opened the first saved document.  
  
He and Ringo's first real chat.  
  
They had got to know each other on Livejournal, where Ringo had commented George's story and it had turned into several chats that were mostly to disturb the other LJ users with endless list of comments. When George's other friend had finally complained about it they had decided to move into MSN and this was the first chat they had had. George smiled when he scrolled down it and smiled even more when he got to the part he had been looking for. Sometimes nostalgia was good.

> **RONGZ:**       wait where do you live  
>  **i like food:**  in london  
>  **i like food:**  why?  
>  **RONGZ:**       shit i live there too  
>  **i like food:** you do??? ohmygod  
>  **RONGZ:**       i know.  
>  **i like food:**  don't tell you're one of those idiotic nerds at my uni  
>  **RONGZ:**       not in uni anymore!  
>  **i like food:**  okay then good i don't think i know you  
>  **RONGZ:**       well then we definitelt got to get to know each other  
>  **RONGZ:**       definitely*  
>  **i like food:**  you're definitelt right Xd

George smiled. From that moment on it had been their tiny inside joke, not because it would’ve still been fun. Nowadays they just wrote and didn’t bother to correct as the other knew what they meant anyway. But sometimes they wrote ‘definitely’ as ‘definitelt’, just for their tiny inside joke. And it still made him smile with happy memories every time it happened.  
  
They had met few days after this chat and had liked each other immediately outside the Internet as well. That evening hadn't led them to bed, but it was the night after. Ringo did master the art of thrusting in just in the perfect ankle. (Not that Ringo was such a randy bastard like George. It was always George who jumped on his pants. Well, not always. But mostly. Half of the time.)  
  
But still their relationship was far from a sexual one. They fucked when it felt like a good thing to do (which was like, always. They did the talking in the between). Besides, Ringo wasn't into men. Or that was what he once told. Then the next evening he had found his way into this sailor's pants and George still didn't know. Well, it didn't matter anyway.  
  
But the reason why he had made his way into this folder was he and John's chats. They mostly contained John's poems actually, but that was what George had to find out. Because if he remembered right, there would be...  
  
A smile spread on his face and he laughed throwing his head back. So he had been right. He was so going to win. They just needed a little push. He opened Gmail and started to write, still grinning wolfishly.

***~**~***

Paul was staring at the paper with a frown. It had been a fortnight since he had gotten his computer back from John and the weird sentences kept coming on the screen. He was freaking out, but didn't show it. He had also noticed the colours on the background of the sentences were always different. Not that it would mean anything.  
  
_I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together  
see how they run like pigs from a gun see how they fly  
I'm crying  
sitting on a cornflake  
waiting for the van to come  
corporation tee-shirt stupid bloody tuesday  
man you've been a naughty boy you let your face grow long  
I am the eggman  
they are the eggmen  
I am the walrus  
goo goo goo joob_  
  
There was no sense in them. He had figured out that they had something to do with each other, they were like a poem or something like that, but then again, they or the poem would make no sense then so he couldn't be sure.  
  
He was just about to open his computer again and go on google to search something about eggmen or stupid bloody tuesdays (he had read Lewis Carroll, yes thank you) when George suddenly burst in and gave him a heart attack.  
  
"Jesus fuckin' George!" he gasped after he had _not_ jumped out of his skin (no, he was not clutching his heart like it would stop any moment) and then showed a middle finger to his friend. "Knock the next time, will ya?"  
  
"We're goin' to the café!" George shouted, marched over Paul's clothes to Paul's side and grabbed his arm, soon dragging him out of the room without caring of Paul's complaining how he had work to do and his Uni essay needed to be done today (which was a clear lie, as Paul hadn’t even glanced at his Uni work in three weeks. Nor the building itself. He was going to fail everything).  
  
"Ye need it!" he still shouted when pushing Paul out of the door, almost not giving him a chance to get his shoes from the floor.  
  
"I don't see why it's necessary to go now,” Paul sighed when they were walking towards the internet café they always used, his hand still firmly in George's, who didn't want to let go to make sure Paul wouldn't run back home.  
  
"You've been sittin' 'ome since John happened, ye need some fresh air!"  
  
"This has nothin' to do with John!" Paul's mouth pressed into a tight line and his eyes narrowed with a clear warning, 'don't you dare to speak about John there's nothing between us just stop it you idiot I don't want him you're just making things up in your little bisexual head'.  
  
George just laughed and didn't answer. Then he took his phone from his pocket (seriously, Paul doubted George could survive a day without it) and checked something before putting it back, smiling too smugly to himself. Paul didn't want to know.  
  
The café came to sight and soon they found themselves sitting there, George in the queue to get some tea (they weren't addicted to tea. No. Well, maybe a bit. Maybe a lot. Well, they were) and Paul had already gone to wait in their usual table. He got his phone out and decided to check his emails while waiting, as he was trying to find a good date for him to go to Liverpool and see his dad and mum a bit and all that.  
  
As he was concentrating on his phone, he failed to notice the café door opening and a young man stepping in, with a leather jacket and sunglasses on. George did notice him, though, waved at him vigorously and smiled when the man noticed him and smiled broadly. Then George pointed at the table where Paul was sitting. The man turned his head, saw Paul and his mouth fell open for a minute. And then he looked at George, gave him a middle finger and started to make his way towards the table. George suppressed a laugh.  
  
A shadow came upon Paul and the chair was being moved when somebody sat on it. He was just about to open his mouth and say something about George being very fast with the tea at once, when he happened to look up from the screen of his iPhone.  
  
The phone slipped from his hands, fell on the table and from that on the floor and his mouth slackened, although he managed to stop it from opening. Fortunately.  
  
John was smiling at him, now opening his leather jacket (which looked very good on him, indeed) and glancing around them, at other people in the café. Paul managed a shaky smile before he decided it was necessary to dive under the table to get the remainings of his iPhone back.  
  
"Hi,” he heard John's voice and forced a proper smile on his face now, hoped he wasn't blushing that much when he straightened his back and laid his phone on the table, decided to get it on whole again maybe later.  
  
"Hi,” he answered and had to do everything that was in his willpower to not look away from John's eyes that had now been revealed to the world, the sunglasses on his forehead (he was looking so fucking cool Paul was feeling hot. He hoped he wouldn't start sweating _now_ ).  
  
"Surprised you?" John smiled showing his teeth and Paul was once again lost on that beautiful grin. He somehow managed to nod, even if his brain seemed to work as fast as his first PC’s Internet Explorer, which had been slower than his current browser was without the Internet itself. That told something.  
  
"Just..." he had to think for a while how to speak, because he had lost the ability to form words, it seemed. ”Just didn't except you."  
  
"Well, I didn't except you so we're in the same situation,” John grinned and winked and Paul almost fainted; luckily only almost.  
  
"What're you doin' here anyroad?" he asked and took a deep breath. He had to be more confident. It wasn't right if he showed himself as a sissy to a man he most wanted to ~~want~~ appreciate him.  
  
"George sent an email a few days back and suggested we meet 'ere,” John said, his eyes wandering on George's direction, who was currently chatting with a nice looking man that was standing in the queue in front of him. "Seems like he's more interested on someone else, though."  
  
So George had put up a date between them two. Not a big deal. Paul was going to hang him later.  
  
"Nah, he does that all the time,” he snorted and lifted his phone's back cover on front of his eyes, examined it with care. "Flirts with ev'ryone and forgets his friends. How many times I've had to walk home alone,” he wiped a few imaginative tears away and John laughed.  
  
"Which I still don't understand, 'cos you could get anyone you wanted,” he grinned and took Paul iPhone in his hand, took the back cover from Paul's hands with a gentle touch (Paul's heart jumped up into his throat) and put it back on the phone with one easy switch of hand. Then he offered it back to Paul with a smile and Paul thanked, took the phone and put it into his pocket preferring to not use it now. If somebody had something to say they would have to wait because he wasn't going to switch on the phone now. He had far too nice company for that.  
  
"Well, I still don't like one-night affairs I'm afraid,” Paul rested his head on his chin, fully ignoring the pounding in his chest. He could have a nice chat with John (who had just basically said he was good-looking, oh God, and that he could get anyone he wanted, well, except John himself, because he was damn straight and so was Paul, mind you) without feeling horribly head over heels (which was exactly how he was feeling).  
  
"Yeah, I remember,” John answered and looked at him strangely, an expression that Paul couldn't put on any category. He blinked and tilted his head a little, his hand resting against his cheek now.  
  
"You've got a good memory,” he then said and John shook his head, chuckling.  
  
"Nah, I jus' remember the things that are important, not always even that."  
  
"How is that bit important?"  
  
"It tells lots about you,” John's smile was mysterious now and Paul wanted to kiss him.  
  
Wait. He just didn't have that thought.  
  
Maybe he did.  
  
He couldn’t have had. He was fucking _straight_ (as it would have mattered in this world of free sexuality he lived in. George was a good example. Or Ringo. Whose sexuality was kind of vague to everyone), he couldn't think of kissing men. Kissing a man, who was so handsome, and funny, and witty, and had so beautiful eyes and smile, and then Paul was blushing and he couldn't stop it.  
  
"I, I,” he started but couldn't get anything else out of his mouth. Did he want to kiss John? Well, of course he wanted. It was fun that just a minute ago he had never thought about it, but now it seemed to be everything he could think about. Kissing John. Tasting his lips. Running his hands through his hair. Oh God, he was getting hard at the mere idea.  
  
"You, you?" John repeated and raised his eyebrows, looking like a fucking Mr. Perfection himself. Paul was getting hard.  
  
"I, I gotta use the loo,” he stuttered, pounced up from his chair and ran past John and George, who was coming towards their table now with tea in his hands, looking pleased with himself (probably a phone number in his pocket). He didn't pay any attention to John's cheerful call, 'no need to hurry, mate' or George's wide but somehow knowing eyes and just locked himself into the loo and sat on the toilet, lifted his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arms around them, willing his mind to calm down and tried to fill his brain with pictures of ugly, fat men in briefs.  
  
John's smiling lips were the only thing that came into his mind.


	5. George Has Everyone Wrapped Around His Finger

John had been, actually, quite unprepared to meet Paul in the café. He had had no clue the other would be coming as well and now, when thinking of Paul's perfect features and the beauty (he did try to censure that thought from his brain) of his expression when he had leant his chin on his hand and smiled at John's words, he found it just so hard to ever think of leaving again. He wanted to be part of Paul's life so desperately he didn't know if he had lost his mind. At what point the feeling he had had gone this bad? He wasn’t sure if he could pinpoint the exact moment.  
  
Paul excused himself to use the loo and John shouted after him cheerfully and called him _mate_ , and so John was left in the table with only George as his company, who was pretty busy with eyefucking the tall man on the other side of the café.  
  
"So you brought Paul with you,” John said lightly, pretending not to mind the fact that George had, actually, brought Paul with him. And well, he didn't mind, he just felt so dumb and stupid every time Paul was close to him and especially now when Paul had just sat there and looked so beautiful, he was kind of breathless. And of course George, the bastard, seemed to notice all of this.  
  
"Yeah, I did,” George's eyes narrowed and his lips spread into a smile, "I thought ye'd like."  
  
"Well, can't say he isn’t a nice guy,” John answered trying to seem nonchalant and leant backwards, crossing his arms over his chest. George, the _bastard_ really had guts to snort and take his phone out of his pocket (John wondered how fucking addicted George really was) before saying:  
  
"Oh, I can see that. Seriously though, I think ye should ask him out for a date. With all yer computer hackin' an' things."  
  
For a while John just stared at George speechless, his expression probably looking pretty hilarious. Then he cleared his throat and frowned.  
  
"I don't know what you're talkin' about."  
  
"Sure ye don'."  
  
John wanted to strangle George. Drown him into a cup of hot white coffee that had too much sugar in it. Fucking hit him dead with a DVD-box of all Lord of the Rings -films. Ring his mother and tell what a piece of shit her son was.  
  
That might be too cruel.  
  
"I honestly don't,” he tried, but George just wriggled his eyebrows (how did those bushes even _move_??) and smirked, and John had to use everything that was within his power to stop himself from throwing the table to the younger man's face. He fucking hated him right now.  
  
"It's genius, really. Forces Paul to talk with ye. Genius, mate, genius,” George then said, eyeing his iPhone and starting to type something with a speed that should be illegal.  
  
"I don't know why I did it,” he finally let out a desperate huff and rested his eyes closed for few minutes, "Guess I jus' wanna have fun."  
  
"Oh, with the way and speed the things're happenin', you're certainly gonna have _fun_."  
  
"George---"  
  
"Back, what did I miss?"  
  
John jumped. There was no other word for it. He jumped and turned his head so fast his neck cracked in a very unpleasant way. Paul came next to him, gave a huge smile and then noticed George had taken his seat.  
  
"George, you're on my seat,” he said and John felt shivers in his neck. Paul's voice really was something. Moreover, why was he thinking things like this again?  
  
"What ye gonna do 'bout it?" George just smiled and then started typing again. Paul sighed and sat on the chair next to John, their thighs brushing each other in the progress. Both were startled and Paul moved a bit away as if he had an electric wave from John. John couldn't say he didn’t have one as well.  
  
"So,” Paul then coughed and looked a bit flushed (and really adorable), "how have you been?"  
  
"Uhm,” John managed a shaky smile, "Fine. Well, yeah, fine. You?" He cocked an eyebrow and forced himself to calm down and put on his flirty smile (oh God, why, why, _why_ ) before he could stop himself.  
  
"...Fine,” Paul took a little pause before answering and got John to raise his eyebrows.  
  
"That's good,” he then grinned and watched how Paul blushed. John was an idiot. He was an idiot who should not have the right to exist.  
  
"Yeah, it is,” Paul chewed his bottom lip now and John _didn't_ stare at his lips. Shit. He needed to find something else to focus on. What could he and Paul talk about that didn't make them into awkward situations?  
  
"How's your ex-love then?" he asked and leant on his hand (fully aware of the flirtatious meaning behind it), flashed a smile on Paul's direction, wholly ignoring George who was too busy texting with someone anyway.  
  
"Fine, I think,” Paul paused again and his eyes darted towards John in a nervous gesture.  
  
"Though it still does that... screen thing."  
  
"Oh?" John took care that his expression didn't betray him this time; it would be too bad if George told the truth of the 'screen thing' as Paul called it. "Maybe I should really take a look again."  
  
"Mmh,” Paul bit his lip and John turned to look at George, who was texting to someone.  
  
"I don't have anything today, nothing but this, so I think I could drop by,” he then said, meeting Paul's eyes again and Paul smiled hesitantly, nodded and took a sip of his tea.  
  
"Yeah. Sounds great."

***~**~***

Somewhere by the evening (after getting pizza from a restaurant because nobody felt like cooking) they took a few beers and after having an argument over who was the best Doctor on Doctor Who (a show that nobody would confess they were obsessed with but they were) George retreated into his room, saying he had spent too little time on tumblr lately and so John and Paul were left alone, sitting in a more or less awkward silence.  
  
After two minutes of that painful pressure upon them John took his mobile from his pocket and sighed while checking the messages. Three from Cynthia, she was asking where he was and was he going to come home at all.  
  
“Guess I should’ve informed her that I’d be stayin’ here,” he muttered and quickly wrote her few lines, despite that it was already pretty late for her, as she liked to go to bed early.  
  
“Yeah,” Paul shrugged from where he was sitting on the sofa, while John was happily situated himself on the armchair that was fast becoming his best friend. “Guess so.”  
  
John pressed the red button and waited a few seconds before putting the shut down phone back into his pocket. He didn’t have to care of his girlfriend’s answer. He looked at how Paul shifted a bit uncomfortably and then, as if sensing John’s thoughts, opened his mouth and spoke.  
  
“You don’t seem to care much about her... opinions.”  
  
It was clear that the opinion part wasn’t really needed in that sentence. John nodded with a desperate sigh and sank deeper into the soft chair.  
  
“Yeah, well... It’s become pretty annoying lately, really. It was fine before and I guess we were in love, but now...” he looked at Paul in the eye, searching for understanding and actually finding it.  
  
“It just wore off?” Paul offered a sad smile and John thought if he had had a similar kind of experience sometime earlier. It was possible, with the way Paul didn’t have anyone at the moment and how he didn’t even show interest on starting a relationship with anyone (John felt a slight bang in his heart at the thought). Maybe he was still nursing a broken heart?  
  
“I guess,” he crossed his arms behind his neck and watched Paul with care. “I’m just stuck, y’know?? Waitin’ for an opportunity to break up with her while never wantin’ to do that, because it will crush her for sure. She thinks nothing’s wrong and that I’m just stressed with work. Yeah right, my arse...” he mumbled and closed his eyes, feeling utterly tired. Talking of this made him feel stressed and desperate, but it still made him feel a bit better. Talking to Paul was easy and it also eased the knot in his stomach that worrying Cynthia and their relationship caused there.  
  
“I understand. Can’t say I’d have experience of that kind of things though, but I’ve had my affairs as well,” Paul nodded sympathisingly and crossed his fingers in his lap.  
  
“Oh? And I thought you were a holy virgin,” John suddenly grinned and Paul threw a sofa pillow on him. John managed to block it with some difficulty and when the next pillow came, he stood no chance.  
  
“Not fair!” he shrieked with a high voice and jumped on his feet, grabbing a pillow from the ground and waving it in the air. “You’re gonna bloody regret that,” he growled with a smile and dark eyes that made Paul’s knees go weak. He didn’t show that though, instead let out a breathy laugh and crawled on the other side of the sofa, towards the two pillows that were resting there, completely unaware of the becoming use for a fight they soon were going to be victims of.  
  
“Aha, no way!” John shouted when he noticed Paul’s mission of abusing the poor pillows by giving them flight lessons and attacked forward, hitting Paul on the neck and causing the younger man let out an ‘oof’ and fall against the sofa cushions, head first and bum sticking up on the air.  
  
John paid no attention to it. No way he would have. No he did not. Did _not_.  
  
He was soon forced to wake up from the staring he was not doing when Paul whacked a pillow on the side of his head and he stumbled and fell down on the sofa, legs still on the ground.  
  
“HA!” Paul cheered and took both of the pillows on his hands and held them threateningly, “There’s no way you can escape NOW!”  
  
“You really think so, princess?” John asked, voice muffled as his face was pretty much buried on the sofa, and then he turned his head and Paul managed to get a glimpse of wild, shining Lennon eyes before John tackled him and they both fell to the ground, John on top of Paul. He used his hips to lock Paul’s flying legs and then lifted a pillow. At this moment, Paul was half laughing, half yelling for John to let him go. If he hadn’t laughed John would have thought he meant it but fortunately, Paul was not good at controlling his brain at the moment.  
  
“You surrender??” John asked and lifted a pillow a bit more. He didn’t want to think how fucking good Paul looked there; face flushed and cheeks red and out of breath under him, but the thought passed in his mind anyway. He wiped it off as fast as it had come, knowing that he could go back to it later. He didn’t want to distract his thoughts at the moment and concentrated only on their _pillow fight_ , because it was fun; it should have bothered him a bit that they were both adults, over 20 and maybe a bit too old to have a bloody pillow fight. However, at the moment he didn’t give a rat’s arse about it.  
  
Getting to hit Paul with the pillow was all he desired at the moment.  
  
“No fuckin’ way!” Paul managed to gasp, clutched a pillow in his left hand and then, without giving John much of a warning, waved it and the object landed straight on John’s face, making him fall to the side, and then Paul was on top of him, taking the pillow from John’s hands and he threw it away with a mad smile.  
  
“Hey!” John shouted, “It was my only weapon!”  
  
“That’s why I took it off, prisoner,” Paul panted and sat on John’s stomach, held two pillows in his hands. “Surrender?” he offered and arched an eyebrow. John stared at him before letting out a huge breath and relaxing his whole body.  
  
“Fuckin’ got no chances, do I?” he asked and then he was laughing, laughing so hard and Paul broke into a fits of laughter as well and he crawled off of John’s body, lied down next to him and they laughed, holding their stomachs and trying to get breath. And every time they even casted a glance at each other, they cracked up again.  
  
“I... f-fucking need t-to PISS!” Paul finally howled and jumped on his feet and ran off, John’s mad laugh following him through the flat. And when Paul was in the loo, flushing the toilet and watching himself from the glass, he felt completed.  
  
He just had to hope George hadn't decided to ruin his budding friendship with John.

***~**~***

George was going to ruin their budding friendship and turn it into a relationship. That was his cruel plan when he came back into the living room, finding them sitting in different chairs (they should at least sit on the same chair at this point already, George decided) and chatting happily about John’s work in the electrical equipment shop. They hardly paid him any attention when he entered the door and only after he had greeted them with a drunken smile (which was not real, as George wasn’t drunk. Only a bit. Well, maybe a bit more than that. But not much) they glanced at him and John nodded while Paul offered him a slight smile.  
  
“’Kay guys,” he slurred and waved his iPhone on the air, “the thing’s that we gotta think o’ the sleepin’ arra... arrage... arrangement!”  
  
“Why do we need to spend time to do that?” John huffed, “I’m sleepin’ here on the sofa or next to yo---“  
  
“Nonono,” George shook his head and lifted up a finger, swaying on his legs, “Ringo’s comin’. Comin’. Like, for a visit! Not comin’ like an effin’ wooonnkerr,” he giggled and waved his hands which was a bit unnecessary but he did it nevertheless, because he felt like it. “Tho’ ‘e’s gonna do t-that too!” he hiccupped and started snickering to himself.  
  
“George, you’re drunk---“ Paul started but George cut him off and stumbled over the room to stick his finger on John’s chest, pointing at him and leaning closer.  
  
“And the sofa,” he paused and looked at the sofa, sneered at the mere sight of it, “is waaaaay too incomtible!” he giggled and didn’t pay any attention when John leant past his body to whisper to Paul, ‘what the fuck does that mean’ and Paul answered ‘uncomfortable’.  
  
“Listen, George, the sofa’s jus’ fine, I slept well when I was here the last time,” John said and was about to continue by saying something stupid about him being a deep sleeper when George shrieked and almost yelled:  
  
“Like that time when we almost KISSED!” he jumped when his phone beeped and then he fell on the sofa, staring at the screen before smiling more widely than he ever could when he was sober.  
  
“Ringo’s comin’ at two!” he then told with the greatest delight and Paul rolled his eyes, finally getting enough.  
  
“Yeah, but I think you should maybe go to sleep till he arrives, it’s three hours anyroad.”  
  
“Yeah but Imma be on the couch till that,” George said with a smile and leant against the sofa cushions, “You two go to Paul’s rooooom,” he giggled, “n’ ‘ave some funnn,” he giggled again and then he was breaking into fits of giggling and Paul rolled his eyes, glanced at John helplessly.  
  
“Don’t suppose we’re gonna get him into his room,” John shrugged, knowing well that when George was in this state of mind, there was nothing they could do to get him anywhere.  
  
“Yeah,” Paul sighed and patted George’s shoulder. “Have a nice night then,” he sighed, stood up and straightened his back, cracking his neck.  
  
“Guess we don’t have any other choice?” he then offered a slightly shaky smile and John shrugged, trying to ignore the horrible pounding inside his chest that had started at the very moment Paul had stood up.  
  
So he followed Paul into his bedroom and pretty awkwardly went to use the loo while the Paul was sitting on the bed, and after both were done, they just stared at each other. Paul was wearing comfortable sweat pants and a t-shirt and he had given John shorts and a t-shirt so they wouldn’t have to sleep in their daily clothes.  
  
After a long, awkward silence Paul finally huffed, let out a breathy and embarrassed laugh and then he just crawled on the bed and pulled the covers over him. He turned on his back and eyed John with slightly flushed cheeks. John didn’t understand the reason behind it, except that it was pretty embarrassing, yes, to sleep in the same bed with a guy you hardly knew. Except that he actually knew Paul at this point better than his aunt. Maybe. But they had only met twice (and had that one Skype-chat, mind you). But did that mean anything when it came to the amount of time they had already spent with each other?  
  
John lied back on the bed and pulled a blanket over himself as well, and then just turned his head and met Paul’s eyes.  
  
“Hi,” he grinned faintly and could see Paul’s white teeth in the dark when the other answered his smile.  
  
“Hi,” Paul answered and then laughed. “Better get some sleep before Ringo arrives.”  
  
“Yeah,” John answered and yawned, “yeah, that sounds bloody great. Sleep tight then.”  
  
“Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” Paul mumbled sleepily before closing his eyes and John felt something warm spread from his heart to every part of his body. He smiled and turned on his side, chuckling without the actual sound. Paul really, really was something.  
  
His thoughts, however, kept him awake till he heard Ringo arrive and he decided willingly to stop thinking and start getting sleep.

***~**~***

George snickered when John and Paul disappeared and tried not to laugh aloud.  
  
He had known it would work.  
  
He lifted his phone in front of his eyes and texted Ringo:  
  
_operation play-drunk worked :D come quickly i’m horny_  
  
He let out a soft chuckle and lied down on his back, still grinning to himself. He had last had this much fun was when he had rewatched the first season of Doctor Who. In the middle of the night, singing the theme song from the bottom of his heart, while Paul was trying to sleep before an important exam. That had been fun.  
  
He needed to write his fic or he would explode.

***~**~***

Paul blinked his eyes when he heard Ringo’s laugh coming from the kitchen. He sighed and nuzzled his face against the chest he was resting his head on. For a while he lied there, in a blissful peace before he realised that he was, actually, resting his head against someone’s chest.  
  
He jumped away from John faster than his mind would have accepted his body could and clutched the bed sheets in his hands, afraid that his heart would stop.  
  
John was still sleeping, on his back and his head slightly turned towards Paul, his other hand now resting on his side and the other on his stomach.  
  
_’They were fuckin’ wrapped around me_ ,’ Paul swallowed and willed himself to calm down. If he started to hyperventilate now it would only wake John up and it would do no good. There was no reason for John to know anything, he thought and slowly and carefully crawled over John’s body, trying not to touch him. But unfortunately, this was the exact moment when John decided to wake up.  
  
And so he stirred without opening his eyes and Paul lost his balance and landed over John’s stomach.  
  
”Ow _fuck_!” John jumped and gasped for breath. After he had opened his eyes and stared at Paul for few stilled minutes, where Paul just lied awkwardly over John’s stomach and John looked like he was wondering if he was still sleeping, he sighed and fell back to the bed with a huff.  
  
”You,” he then said and then he was laughing and Paul seriously wondered if he had hit something very bad, because it made no sense that John was laughing now.  
  
”What the fuck are you doing??” John then breathed and Paul realised he hadn’t moved and he was probably very heavy.  
  
”Oh, sorry,” he hurriedly said and crawled over John on the floor, stood up and started to look for his clothes before giving up and deciding to spend the morning in his jogging pants. ”I was just tryin’ to get here,” he grinned sheepishly and rocked back and forth on his heels. John just stared at him with those beautiful eyes again and Paul had difficulties remembering to breath. And then the older man chuckled and shook his head.  
  
”Do you mind if I don’t wake up just yet?”  
  
”Of course not, I’ll just go 'n take a shower,” Paul smiled in return, secretly relieved that John didn’t tease him of his mistake. And also relieved that John didn’t seem to have a clue that they had _cuddled like lovers_ before waking up and oh dear God, the idea made him flush and he decided to retreat pretty quickly. So he ran out of the room, greeted Ringo and George with enthusiasm and headed straight into the shower.  
  
And only when the water was washing his skin he remembered the feeling of John’s hand resting on his back and he felt like crying, because he didn’t understand his feelings. He closed his eyes and let the water hit his face and if he concentrated, he could still feel his head against John’s chest. And God help him, he wanted to have it again; that wonderful happy feeling that came from waking up in his arms.  
  
But what did it mean?

***~**~***

”You’re gonna stay for a couple o’ days.”  
  
This statement was made by George when he and John were cleaning up the lunch that all four had enjoyed together. Ringo had to leave for work he had in a book shop and he and Paul were now at the door, changing the last goodbyes as they hadn’t had that much of a time to tell any news.  
  
”Uh, I’m not sure…” John answered while taking the empty beer cans from the table and putting them into a bag that was in the corner of the kitchen, meant only for them.  
  
”Of course ye’re sure, ye’re gonna stay,” George gave him a pleased smile and threw the forks into the dish machine.  
  
”What makes you think so?” John asked and lifted the plates from the table. George straightened his back when he walked on his side, smiled at him with (in John’s opinion) cruel eyes and leant on the cooker that was fortunately cold.  
  
”I will tell Cyn every little bit of your dark teenager years.”  
  
”You wouldn’t,” John looked at George straight in the eye and George laughed before smiling wolfishly. “Besides,” he said as he had remembered it just now (he had), “I have work. Work. Tomorrow. Can’t stay.”  
  
”What makes you think I won’t? And ye jus’ call Jeff an’ take few days off. He won’t mind.”  
  
John wanted to say ’good point’ but decided not to, because that would probably make George tell everything to his girlfriend anyway. Not that it would have bothered John at all that people would know his homosexual experiences, no… It was more the point that then everything between him and Cynthia would be mostly over, because Cynthia was like that. And that would break her heart and John didn’t want that. No, he would have to think of some other way to get rid of her. Oh, and George was probably right about his boss Jeff. He would give John few days off ever-so-happily. And would advice him to sleep a bit. And would advice him to find someone to have a shag with if Cynthia wasn’t enough. Because ‘Man, the tension in your shoulders is radiating way over here. Get a fuck or two to get over with that sexual desire okay?’. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is John’s boss. It is unnecessary to say that George and Jeff got along with each other _excellently_.  
  
”If you two break up, there’s nothin’ in the way for you an’ Paul,” George grinned and John wanted to hit him with a plate. There was nothing between him and Paul, only a starting friendship. And if it had anything to do with John, it would also remain like that. A _friend_ ship.  
  
If he only had anything to do with it, as he knew his friend all too well. And George was excited. It was not good when he was. It meant he was planning something.  
  
John hoped it had _nothing_ to do with him and Paul, but his instincts told him otherwise.  
  
They were fucking doomed.

***~**~***

John lifted his old Nokia on his ear and tapped the armrest of the chair he was sitting on. He waited that his boss would answer and cast an evil glance at George who was standing in the doorway, a strict expression on his face. There was no running when he had that look on.  
  
He heard his boss pick up his phone and he burst out talking:  
  
“Jeff? It’s me, John, hi!”  
  
_”John! Let me guess, you’re askin’ for a free day!”_  
  
How could the lad say it so cheerfully? He would have to do the whole day all alone. Sometimes John got headache just for being around Jeff too long. No, really, they were best buddies.  
  
“Uh, I, I actually am, yeah... For two days, Monday and Tuesday, is that... Is... Okay, good, yeah see... Jeff, listen... For fuck’s sake!” he huffed when it seemed impossible to get Jeff to listen, who had immediately given him permission to do whatever was keeping him from working as it was John’s money, not Jeff’s that he was going to lose...  
  
_”I’M LISTENING.”_ Jeff said strongly. John was surrounded by idiots.  
  
“See, I’m at George’s. Remember George? Yeah, that... Yeah, yeah, the one with the permanent erection, yes. I’m at his pla--- No, we’re not _fucking_!” he rubbed his eyes with his other hand and saw George sitting in the ground in the doorway, holding his stomach and laughing his arse off as quietly as he could. “Listen, Jeff... Jeff... you need to write it down. Into a book... That book in the backroom. You need to... You need to mark down that I took few days off. Got it? Did you... JEFF.”  
  
_”Yeah, yeah, Mark down, into a book, in the backroom.”_  
  
“What did you need to mark down?” John said loudly and when he was met by silence, he sighed really, really deeply. George crawled away and soon John heard him laughing uncontrollably in the kitchen.  
  
“That I took days off,” he said like he was talking to a five-years old and Jeff squealed.  
  
_”Is that Paul there too???”_  
  
“Yes, Paul is here too. He’s in his room, doing who knows what.”  
  
_”He’s lyin’ on his bed imaginin’ you there TOO!_ ”  
  
“JEFF!!!” John growled furiously but Jeff dialled off laughing. John stared at his Nokia for a while before he threw it angrily over the room into the wall. Then he crawled up into a ball on the chair and muttered sourly:  
  
“As if he ever would.”


	6. George Plots And Sexually Harasses The World

So John got the day free, although with Jeff it wasn’t really difficult. John just worried that his boss would get stuck inside a refrigerator or get buried under nail boxes. He used to do that when John wasn’t there looking after him.  
  
To celebrate John’s free day, George decided that they were going to play Twister. So, after a few beers and a pizza they found themselves totally upside down. The one who was the closest to the spinner would spin and everyone would try to get the easiest spot to themselves. With these wrong rules the harmless game turned into a war of who got which circle. John chose the job of the commentator and so he described the game’s flow with a thick American accent, his voice muffled by George’s arm that was right in front of his face. Meanwhile Paul and George laughed their arses off, Paul accidentally kicking George in the gut and winning that round.  
  
They were having so much fun that at some point Paul’s position gave over just because he was laughing so much. His leg had been around John’s knee and his head between John’s hands while his own ones where God knows where. As John had stretched himself over the whole board he fell down too and for a while they were just a messy pile of arms and legs sticking out of every place. George was laughing himself sick on the side of the board until he realised that it seemed impossible for Paul and John to find out which leg was whose. Then the youngest moved a bit closer and started tickling the first sole he met. When the foot almost kicked him on the nose he deduced it belonging to Paul and then it was easy to get them out of the knot.  
  
And then they played again, of course.  
  
Before they realised, it was time to go to ‘sleep’. This time George didn’t have Ringo as an excuse and so Paul made John a comfortable sleeping spot on the sofa. Then three of them talked long until Paul realised it was already 2 AM and decided to really go to sleep, which made the other two agree with him.  
  
It was the following morning when things really started to get out of hand.  
  
Paul was making breakfast when John entered the kitchen. Paul had his jogging pants on again as he tended to sleep in them but John was fully clothed, wearing jeans and a blue polo-neck (he liked polo necks).  
  
”Morning!” Paul grinned at him cheerfully before turning back to frying the bacon. John thought he had never seen anything as beautiful.  
  
The light shone in Paul’s dark brown hair making him look like he wasn’t from this world. John’s eyes briefly brushed past the back muscles that he could see through Paul’s white t-shirt. When he realised what he had looked at he turned his eyes away with blush creeping up to his neck. How glad he was that it was Paul’s back on him and not his face.  
  
”Yeah, mornin’,” he gave an awkward smile that Paul couldn’t see. It slipped off of his face at the moment Paul turned his eyes on him again and gave him a huge, blinding grin.  
  
”See, I can actually cook!” the younger man laughed and pointed at the cooker where there were bacon and eggs boiling. John wondered if they ever ate anything else than eggs, bacon or pizza.  
  
”Hmmh,” John answered and walked closer, “indeed you can,” he found a smile again and his and Paul’s eyes met each other for the shortest amount of time before Paul once again turned to face the food and John was left staring at the hair on his neck.

He felt the pull in his heart so strongly that it was difficult to try and resist. If he only could take those two steps that were needed and if he only could just wrap his arms around Paul’s slim waist and lean over his shoulder, maybe plant a little kiss on his neck in the progress.  
  
He shook his head vigorously and wrapped his arms around himself. As if it would ever happen, especially with Paul, because Paul was interested in John in no ways and Paul was straight and so was John and John even had a girlfriend.  
  
Though when Paul started to hum to himself happily and flicked the eggs over, John found that at least one of his reasons was just a stupid excuse to not get what he wanted. In this free world of sexuality it didn’t actually matter if they were both straight. But John felt no sexual desire against any men.  
  
Only Paul?  
  
It was only natural, he told himself. Paul was a good-looking, fun young man and they always had brilliant time together. Paul was beautiful, caring and warm and besides, he wrote poems and was even working on a freaking novel! Of course John had lied about not having read some of his stuff when he had stayed the first night in Paul’s room few weeks ago. And Paul was a good writer, though he himself disagreed. But then again, everyone always said John’s crap was good, so maybe it was a similar kind of thing? Not that John really thought his crap good.  
  
So maybe it didn’t make him a queer to fancy Paul? And really (he told himself for what felt like the millionth time) it didn’t matter to him what was his sexuality; only that Paul was straight and by that way he had without him knowing it shattered John’s heart to pieces even before John had even started to think that this feeling would be something more than just normal ’digging’. _And_ John had a girlfriend. Which really wasn’t a big thing when you came to think about it.  
  
”Aw shit!” Paul said and turned his head vigorously. ”Hey, can you… Can you give me the grease over there?” he pointed at the said object and John nodded, hurried past the kitchen table and took the oil bottle from where it was next to the fridge. He gave it to Paul without much of a word and Paul thanked him smiling, saving the bacon from burning.  
  
When the crisis was over and the oil was resting next to the cooker in peace, John realised where he actually was standing.  
  
Right behind Paul, head leaning over the other’s shoulder, John’s chest almost touching Paul’s back. Without really noticing it, he had followed Paul’s battle with the bacon from here so that he wouldn’t much disturb him, but now when there was no grease bottle in Paul’s hands the younger man could use his common sense of _things_.  
  
”Hi?” he asked carefully and turned his head slightly to meet John’s eyes. John managed a shaky smile and was just about to back away with an excuse of using the loo (really, the worst. Excuse. Ever) when Paul smiled as well and John froze.  
  
He was just so beautiful. And being this close to Paul it made John notice something that he hadn’t moments ago.  
  
”You’ve got an eyelash on your cheek,” he grinned and Paul automatically lifted his right hand, it going to the wrong cheek.  
  
”The other one,” John said softly and then, without much thinking or hesitating or realising what the fucking fuck he was doing, he raised his own hand and took the eyelash away with a gentle wipe.  
  
It felt like all of his senses were full of Paul now. He could smell the man's aftershave this close, he could hear Paul’s rapid breathing, he could feel Paul’s shoulder touching his chest and his fingers were now hovering over Paul’s neck, and he could see every detail in Paul’s face, every beautiful and dark eyelash that he had resting over his eyes and every tiny colour that his eyes held, the blush he had on his cheeks and the way his lips had parted in the most adorable but also the most erotic way John had ever seen.  
  
The only sense he lacked was taste.  
  
Only lead by an instinct, he leant forward ever so slowly, with his mind shut and heart beating impossibly fast as if it was trying to say, _this is what I want, this is what I need, give it to me_ and his hand touched Paul’s chin now and Paul’s eyes were fluttering closed and…  
  
_**DOO WEEEEEEEE DOOOOOOOO**_  
  
John was on the other side of the kitchen faster than he would have ever thought he could move. He felt the blood on his neck and this time he was unable to stop it from creeping up on his cheeks, not that Paul wouldn’t have been in a similar state at all. The poor boy was clutching at the spatula with so much force it was a miracle it didn’t break into half and he looked like his face had been painted over with red paint.  
  
”Sorry!” George’s voice was being heard from somewhere. ”Has anyone seen my phone?” The Doctor Who theme continued playing and there was muffled swears being heard when George was trying to find his phone between the sofa cushions.  
  
John swallowed and quickly retreated into the toilet without so much of a word.

***~**~***

John had almost kissed him.  
  
John had almost kissed him.  
  
JOHN HAD ALMOST KISSED HIM.  
  
JOHN. HAD. ALMOST. KISSED. HIM.  
  
_JOHN. HAD. BLOODY. FRICKING. ALMOST. FUCKING. KISSED. HIM._  
  
Paul didn’t know what to think. It had happened so fast, but at the same time so ever-so-slowly that Paul felt like he hadn’t breathed in ages. As he had kind of been unable to breathe when that fucker and the most handsome man ever lived had been that close to him. And _THEY HAD ALMOST KISSED!!!!!!!!_  
  
He really needed to calm down to think of this. He needed some private time because it wouldn’t help if he started to hyperventilate now, though it was really close at the moment anyway. The memory of John’s fingers touching his chin so gently made him shiver.

He wondered how it would feel to have that touch in a totally different place.  
  
_'NO. NONONONO. BAD. BAD THOUGHTS_ ,' he mentally screamed at himself and turned off the cooker. The bacon would do and besides, George and John both were the kind of guys who ate anything you put in front of them, unlike Paul who liked to have his food cooked. He could do with a toast this morning.  
  
He put the frying pan on a cold burner and after that buried his head into his hands, taking a deep breath.  
  
Now what was he supposed to do?

***~**~***

> **From:** George Harrison  <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://slut)>  
>  **To:** "Cynthia Powell."  <[cynthia.powell@gmail.com](http://bye)>  
>  **Subject:** Hi Cyn :DDDD  
>    
>  Cynthia! It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other… I feel kinda awkward writing this mail to you but I’d like to talk to you about one thing that’s been on my mind for pretty long. But how are you?

* * *

 

> **From:** Cynthia Powell  <[cynthia.powell@gmail.com](http://bye)>  
>  **To:** “George Harrison”  <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://slut)>  
>  **Subject:** Re: Hi Cyn :DDDD  
>    
>  From all the people to e-mail me, you were the last one I was excepting to do so. What did you want to talk about?  
>  I am fine, thank you :-) You?

* * *

 

> **From:** George Harrison  <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://slut)>  
>  **To:** "Cynthia Powell." <[cynthia.powell@gmail.com](http://bye)>  
>  **Subject:** Re: Re: Hi Cyn :DDDD  
>    
>  its kinda private

* * *

 

> **From:** Cynthia Powell  <[cynthia.powell@gmail.com](http://bye)>  
>  **To:** “George Harrison”  <[harrison.geo@gmail.com](http://slut)>  
>  **Subject:** Re: Re: Re: Hi Cyn :DDDD  
>    
>  Also thank you from answering my question of how are you. Here we are talking privately, aren’t we?

* * *

 

 _Tooooot. Toooooot.  
  
“Cynthia Powell speaking.”_  
  
“Cyn!”  
  
_”George!”_  
  
“Cyn! I got too tired to write,” George grinned and lied down on his bed, snuggling closer to Ringo who had fallen asleep after a tiring day at work. It was 7 o’clock in the evening and Paul was in his room doing whatever he was doing and John had left in a hurry, saying that he really needed to go home, ignoring George’s protests. The youngest of them all wasn’t sure what had happened between his OTP but it surely was as heartbreaking as Aragorn marrying Lady Arwen instead of his true love Legolas. And because George was a bastard and he felt that he needed to do something, he decided to take his plan further.  
  
Number one, get the OTP have some feelings for each other: Had been easy as fuck and George hadn’t even lifted a finger to achieve this one.  
  
Number two, get the OTP sleep in the same bed: Succeeded with the special congratulates from the jury (known as Ringo) and that had also gave him a pretty sweet picture of John and Paul sleeping all wrapped up with each other before either one had woken up.  
  
Number three, get some sexual tension between them: Okay, that had been there from the moment they had met but George was sure this morning happened something. He was _sure_ that _something_ had happened, or almost had. He was excited to get it all out from Paul (or John, as he could be easier).  
  
Number four, plan a meeting with the soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend of half of the OTP and tell _The Dark Things_.  
  
Number five was his favourite. Number five was _the Birthday Party_ , with capital letters. After number five he could start planning the upcoming marriage.  
  
But now was the moment of Number four.  
  
_“That’s so very you”_ , Cynthia laughed softly and George smiled even wider. This was going to be so easy with a person like Cyn.  
  
“Yeah. But ‘ey, I was gonna ask, could we meet up some day in a café or somethin’? I’ve got this thing I gotta talk ‘bout with ye,” he said it all in a split of second while laying his other hand on Ringo’s hair and staring to stroke them with gentle flicks of fingers.  
  
_“Uhm, I’m not quite sure… When is John coming home?”_  
  
George was just about to open his mouth and say what would have been the most stupid thing ever (isn’t he there already) when he realised.  
  
_Oh._  
  
He had to suppress a laugh really hard and his hand clutched at Ringo’s hair a bit more forcefully than it would have been necessary. That caused Ringo to wake up with a crumble and George hid his face into his shoulder, shaking with a quiet laugh.  
  
“Oh, I’m not sure, he an’ Paul went down to a pub an’ he said he’d come home from there, but can’t say how sober he is,” a sweet lie was being made, but George was pretty sure that it wasn’t a big lie. Actually the truth could have been only minus Paul.  
  
_“Ah, I see”_ , Cynthia said and for a while it was silent but then she cleared her throat and started: _”So, you wanted to see—“_  
  
“Brilliant,” George said it with a great Scottish accent and grinned when Ringo sighed sadly, muttering ‘oh, Ten’ to himself. “So, when it’d suite ye?”  
  
_”Er, the weekend would be actually suitable, only that there’s John’s birthday coming…”_  
  
“Nah, it’s only next week, the weekend’s fine,” George grinned, “I’ll ring ye ‘bout the time then later, see ya!”  
  
_”…See you, George?”_  
  
With that the line was cut down and George stared at his phone with the widest of smiles that one could sport before he threw it on the mattress next to him and turned to Ringo.  
  
“Number four’s gonna be the greatest moment of me life,” he nuzzled at Ringo’s throat and Ringo chuckled, brought George’s head to his own level and planted a kiss on his lips that was chaste at first but turned into something else when George stuffed his hands under the older man’s shirt and climbed on top of him.  
  
“Christ, you never get tired,” Ringo laughed when George thrust his body down on Ringo’s and kissed him again.  
  
“Is there any particular reason why I should?”  
  
“Nah, I kinda like it this way.”

***~**~*  
**

John had been dead pissed when he had come home that night. Cynthia had had a monologue that almost even beat Mimi’s best demonstrations of her skills of giving John a lecture of something that was far from being acceptable and that proved one thing for him; he really didn’t want to spend any more time with her than was necessary.  
  
He had quickly ducked into bed without paying much attention to Cynthia’s tiny nightwear (that she had years ago bought to please John. At that time it had worked, though) but found it unable to sleep in the first few hours. Paul’s blushing face from the morning just kept coming back into his mind and he wondered now for the first time ever, why had Paul actually blushed? Why had his breathing been so quick?  
  
Was it normal for a guy to blush when you were about to ~~snog the hell out~~ kiss them?  
  
_’Maybe I should ask George_ ,’ he thought through his hazy, drunken mind. _’Although he’d just get a trigger from it an’ would never leave me alone_.’  
  
Cynthia turned on her other side, her face meeting John’s one. For a while John stared at her, wondering when she had become such a weight on his shoulders. And then he just turned on his other side, his back towards his girlfriend and sighed deeply.  
  
_’Paul would never become a weight_ ,’ was the last vague thought he registered before falling to sleep.

***~**~***

”Paul??” George called and Paul raised his head from his pillow. Maybe he should start waking up a bit earlier, with the University soon coming back to his life and all that. He couldn’t fake being ill much longer.  
  
”Hrmmh?” he sleepily groaned and George’s head poked inside his room.  
  
”Ye up for some shoppin’?” the lad asked and Paul’s brain really took its time to understand what George had said.  
  
”What?” he lifted his weight on one elbow and stared at George through one sleepy eye.  
  
”Ye heard,” the other grinned and jumped inside the room, putting the lights on and making Paul squeak helplessly. ”Shoppin’.”  
  
”Why the fuck d’you wanna go shopping???”  
  
”Hm,” George tapped his finger against his chin before lifting Paul’s jeans from the floor and throwing them to Paul’s face. ”It’s John’s birthday next week an’ I’m busy durin’ the weekend so I thought we’d get him a present now.”  
  
For a while Paul stared at him blankly before sitting up and scratching his neck.  
  
”Why do I have to buy him a present?” he asked and yawned widely, blinking his eyes and wondering if he could ever focus them again. He really hadn’t slept well.  
  
”Well he’s yer friend, now isn’t he?” George said lightly and too good-moodily and Paul narrowed his eyes. It didn’t promise anything good when George sounded like that.  
  
”Yeah, I guess he is, but is there a party? Why would I be invited, I’ve known him for a few weeks only,” he sighed and started to get his jogging pants off in an order to get the jeans on. George smiled when Paul’s thighs came into the view and tried to act like he wasn’t looking, though Paul knew well that he actually _was_.  
  
”He invited you,” the younger man shrugged and Paul rolled his eyes.  
  
”Yeah, more like you invited us both and probably Ringo also.”  
  
”Touché,” George laughed and then jumped on Paul’s bed, slapped at his bare thigh making him yelp.  
  
”Come’n!” he shouted. ”Shoppin’ doesn’t wait!"  
  
Paul poked George’s side making the younger man squirm and laughed before standing up and putting on a pullover, as it was October already (had been for like, a day. But still).  
  
”Actually, it does. But yeah, I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes,” he took socks into his hand and waved them in the air before stepping out of his room and headed into the toilet, ignoring George’s yell of ’Yeah, sure’.

***~**~***

Twenty minutes later they were already walking towards a bus stop, mainly because neither of them really felt like walking and because they would have to walk twenty minutes to get to the centre, it was easier to take a bus that was there in ten. They caught the bus just in time, took over the backseat and for ten minutes argued of whether to visit the record shop George worked for or not.  
  
They hopped off of the bus and first headed towards the record shop because George had won the argument (‘I get all the records for a lower price!’). There they strolled around about half an hour before Paul honestly felt that he needed to get away because he was just about to buy everything. So he dragged George out of the shop to the busy street.  
  
“I thought we were supposed to look for a present,” he smiled while stuffing his hands into his pockets and George nodded, putting Bob Dylan’s newest album, Tempest, into his bag.  
  
“Easy, we’re gettin’ there... I jus’ _needed_ this one,” his eyes had a maniac glint in them and Paul was happy it wasn’t Eric Clapton that had released a new record. George would go overly mad.  
  
“Yeah, you always need just _that_ one,” Paul rolled his eyes and started walking towards the department shop.  
  
“I don’t need your sassy shit today,” George mumbled behind him and Paul decided to ignore him. The sooner the present was bought the sooner they would get back home.  
  
Also a tiny part of him was kind of excited of buying a present for John, but he decided to ignore that as well. As far as he could go on without thinking, everything was fine.  
  
Only if he could actually turn his brain off, because just when they passed a couple kissing each other Paul’s mind went automatically back to yesterday morning and to the Happening That He Wasn’t Supposed To Think About But He Thought About It All The Time and suddenly he really needed to get home _quickly_. Like, _really quickly_.

***~**~***

“John has a cat??”  
  
“Yeah, didn’t you know?” Paul tried to hide his smug smile when they were going through the cat stuff in an animal shop Paul had dragged George despite the younger man’s strong resisting.  
  
“No, we haven’t been actually _talkin’_...” George winked and Paul felt shivers down his spine. Had they done something behind Paul’s back that he hadn’t noticed? George had said, on Saturday evening that he and John had almost kissed. He had brushed it off as normal drunk talking George used to do but what if there was some truth behind it? Would John kiss George and moreover, why would he kiss George instead of Paul? Wasn’t Paul good enough? Was there something in George that Paul didn’t have?  
  
He shook the thoughts from his head and bit his lip while looking at a cat toy that had pink feathers in it. John _had_ tried to kiss him, he reminded himself (he should have been trying to forget it but here he was, actually trying to remember (not that it would’ve been hard to bring John’s face into his mind)). But what had been the reason behind it? Maybe he was just bi-curious. And because Paul was good-looking and had some feminine features, maybe John thought that it’d be easier to get it going with him. Or that he wouldn’t feel as gay if Paul had eyelashes.  
  
Could it be just bi-curious circling? If it was, Paul wasn’t sure if he could take it. His own confused feelings were so much stronger than just normal searching-for-a-fuck. If John was spending time with him just in hopes to get into his pants, Paul wouldn’t be able to cope with it. He would never be able to see John again, for sure. He would never be able to forgive him for betraying Paul like that.  
  
“Paul, stop thinkin’ about your undyin’ love towards John and buy the fuckin’ toy if ye wanna. Then we can go into a sex shop ‘cos I need new dildos,” George called and Paul blinked, turned to face George.  
  
“Did you know that his cat’s name’s Creature?”  
  
“What?” George tilted his head confusedly and Paul chuckled, pushed the unwelcomed thoughts in the back of his head. He nodded and waved the feather toy in his hand, trying to imagine John’s cat chasing it.  
  
“Yeah, he told me that he needed a name and couldn’t come up with anythin’... Then he looked at the kitten and thought ‘what a creature, lives to drink milk and make humans worship her’ and then he just decided that she’d be Creature,” he shrugged smiling, imagining John with a kitten. It would be the sweetest scene Paul ever witnessed.  
  
“Woah, you _really_ have been spendin’ time with ‘im,” George grinned and poked Paul’s side several times. “If you know what I mean...”  
  
“Shut up,” Paul muttered and placed the toy on the wall. “I don’t know if it’s okay to buy stuff for his cat when it’s his birthday.”  
  
“You said it! Now can we just _leave_???” George sounded a bit desperate and Paul huffed but nodded, deciding to come here some other time to buy something for John’s cat. Would it be weird to buy stuff for her? Would John think it weird? Paul hoped not.  
  
“You’re really in need of those dildos, are you?” he asked when George jumped out of the door, turning around to face Paul with that same glint in his eyes than before.  
  
“Oh, you have no idea,” he winked and Paul swallowed uncomfortably.  
  
“I have no intention or whatsoever to know what you’re gonna do with them,” he reminded when they started walking down the street towards the sex stuff shop.  
  
“I’m gonna stick them up my or Ringo’s bum or then stuff them into Ringo’s mouth while I’m fuckin’ him or—“  
  
“George!”  
  
George laughed manically and Paul breathed out deeply, trying to wipe off the images George had created into his mind. He really _didn’t_ want to know what one could do with dildos, thank you very much.  
  
“No, really, sometimes I just fuck him with them while he blows me,” George squealed sounding excited and Paul decided to shut him out. There wasn’t anything new that George shared intimate moments of his relationship with Ringo. But it didn’t mean Paul was willing to listen.  
  
“One day you’re gonna get arrested for speaking like that in public,” he stated when they entered the shop and George jumped away whistling to himself, looking like he had just stepped through his home door. Paul sighed, shook his head and turned to go through some porn magazines. Not that he had ever bought them; Internet was his tool and he sure did use it well. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t _look_ at them while George was going through the dildo catalogue, still humming to himself like he was buying flowers.  
  
“Paul?” the younger man called after good fifteen minutes of them going around the shop looking at all kind of different stuff. Paul turned and found that George was standing right behind him with a Blue-ray disc in his hand that had two guys in the cover, the other one blowing the other.  
  
“George.” Paul just answered and sighed, “I’m not buying it. Not now, not ever.”  
  
“Yeah, ye can download it from Piratebay just fine, I’m jus’ remindin’ you that this kinda stuff exists,” George grinned and wandered off again, leaving Paul to stand all alone in front of the whips.  
  
“Yeah,” he whispered to himself and turned to face the said objects. “But I’m not gonna go for it.”


	7. George. Is. A. Huge. Piece. Of. Shit.

The weekend started with clouds and rain in the Saturday morning. This didn’t bother Paul at all, as he had kind of planned to spend the rest of his life inside his bedroom without ever getting out in case there was someone named John visiting them again. Though he doubted that the man would be visiting them soon; his birthday was next week’s Tuesday and besides, the Happening That Had Happened But That Paul Didn’t Think About But Actually Did Quite A Lot had made sure that whatever there had been between them, a fragile friendship, had shattered into millions of pieces, and now there was (from Paul’s point of view) only this huge tension and he didn’t really know how to hang out with John in future. Maybe he should just forget the whole kiss and try to be like ‘yo mate sorry but can we be like only friends without these awful thoughts that I’d like to kiss you but let’s not think about that okay’, but he knew that it would never work. But he knew that he had to try, because what other options did he have?  
  
_He could always try and take the things to the next level._  
  
He startled, shook his head and grimaced. No, it was simply impossible! John had a girlfriend, John had a girlfriend AND John had a girlfriend and was that really the only thing that came into his mind???  
  
But if he was being honest, it was the only thing that was in the way of him and John being together. Not that he wanted to be together with him. He _desired it more than anything ever oh **fuck**_. But, as he was saying, Cynthia was the only one blocking the possibilities of them getting somewhere further.  
  
John had planned to get rid of her soon?  
  
He hit his head with the notebook he had in his hand, stood up and jumped up and down few times. What could he possibly do to get these stupid, stupid ideas out of his head?  
  
But John was so amazing. He was witty, really clever, knew how to repair computers (well, that wasn’t important, only a big plus), he was artistic and fun and handsome and sex poured out from every bit of his body and Paul really _had_ to stop thinking about this before it was too late.  
  
Did it make him gay if he thought that John was hot?  
  
He slammed his head against the wall and felt like letting out a frustrated sob. What was wrong with him? Why in the hell did he have these thoughts, why did he think about John, why had he felt such feelings towards him in the first place, and _WHY_ did it make him horny to think about John in all that LEATHER??????  
  
Had he turned gay at some point and had just somehow forgot to note it or something?  
  
He _needed_ John. And didn’t just need, he also _wanted_ him.  
  
‘ _But he’s got a girlfriend_ ,’ was the last desperate tug in his brain before his heart took over and he sank to the floor, his back against the wall and knees against his chest. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, letting his head rest on the wall.  
  
Now what?

***~**~***

He couldn’t believe he was actually doing it, after all what he had said to George. But when the two blonde blokes on the computer screen started making out hotly he had to admit that he actually _was_ doing it.  
  
When the other man got down on his knees and took the other’s dick into his mouth Paul checked that the curtains were surely closed; he didn’t want the old lady in the opposite building to have a heart attack or _certain thoughts_ of Paul’s sexuality, if she happened to take out her binoculars and spy on the young handsome man on the building next to hers, like she actually quite often did.  
  
When the men started moaning hotly into his headphones he put a pillow onto his lap, just for comfort.  
  
When the other of the blonde men started fucking the other and grunting softly Paul decided to put the volume a bit down in case George decided to stroll in without knocking, so that he would have time to change the window into a word document.  
  
And when the men came after thirty minutes of fucking in different positions and repeating words ‘fuck’, ‘oh God’, ‘oh fuck me baby’ and ‘mmhhhhhhh’ for the whole time, Paul could say that his cheeks were violently pinkish and that he had a raging hard-on that wouldn’t go away. Which made him really confused as he had always thought himself as a straight man. But everyone already knew his thoughts so there wasn’t a point in saying it again.  
  
He quickly closed the window before his fingers would betray him and take him to see another video. Then he closed his eyes and tried to will his dick to go into its usual softer state, but without success. The image of the two men fucking was too strongly burnt into his mind and he knew there was no way to push it away now. And then the picture of John just before he was about to kiss (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) him popped up from nowhere (actually not, it was pretty much on the top of the pile of things that Paul might have thought) and he took a deep breath, remembering every detail in John’s face so clearly, remembering how it felt to have his lips just an inch away from his own and then something happened that he hadn’t dared to really allow before.  
  
He imagined how the other’s lips would have actually met his own. Pressed first just lightly and then after a bit more. And then John’s hand would go into his hair and pull him closer, attacking Paul’s mouth with eagerness and without hesitation and leaving Paul no space to breathe. He would push Paul against the kitchen table and take a hold of his cheeks with his two hands and he would fucking _kiss_ Paul, like a man kisses another man, and Paul would answer to the kiss just as forcefully and passionately, without a second thought.  
  
He opened his eyes and stared at his computer screen.  
  
It was white with tiny black letters.  
  
_I’d love to turn you on._  
  
He took a deep breath and pulled out his notebook. It had started happening more frequently now, these screen things and he really hoped they would stop interrupting his thoughts. But on the other hand he was curious about them and always wanted to know the next phrase. But this one was too much, considering the current state of his dick.  
  
He wrote the phrase down, pressed enter and closed the computer. He stood up and jumped over the clothes on the floor to his bed and fell down onto it. And then his thoughts took over.  
  
How John’s hands had felt so good around him that morning when they had woken up against each other. How he still could faintly remember the smell of John in his nostrils and in his shirt and in his hands. John wasn’t too muscular but just perfect, soft but strong and he just had the most perfect body, slim but not a skeleton like George. The way he looked when he had his shirt stuffed into his jeans, showing the slight curves of his waist and backside was just way too much for Paul’s poor mind.  
  
How would it feel if he got a chance to run his hands down on that body and rest them on his waist, then slip them behind him and bring his midsection up to meet Paul’s own? If Paul could just grab John behind his neck and first force his head to the side for him to kiss him with all that he could and after take a hold of his hair and pull his head backwards in an attempt to bite and suck his neck. If only he could feel John’s hands on his sides, slowly pushing under his shirt and grabbing his flesh so hard it would leave marks that Paul would watch the next morning with a blush on his face. If John only could be there, laughing at him blushing and then creeping up behind him and wrapping his arms around him kissing his neck. And Paul would turn around and meet John’s lips and then rip his clothes off and push him into the shower, following behind him. And then John would press him against the shower wall and thrust their dicks together.  
  
Paul came into his own hand with a muffled cry and sighed deeply, his head against the pillow. He blinked his eyes few times, trying to tell himself that he was not going to cry.  
  
A future he needed but wasn’t able to get.  
  
_‘Looks like I’m gay after all,’_ he bit his lip and turned on his back, staring at the ceiling, defeated in this new realisation.  
  
If only John could be lying next to him and kiss the corner of his eye. And take a hold of his hand. And roll himself on Paul and press him against the cushions, pressing his nose against Paul’s. And say something awfully romantic and after that grimace and state that he’d never say it again.  
  
If only.

***~**~***

“John, there’s pizza in the fridge in case you get hungry.”  
  
“Hm.”  
  
“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”  
  
“Hm.”  
  
“Have a nice day, darling.”  
  
“Hm? Yeah, you too.”  
  
Cynthia closed the door of their flat and put the keys into her handbag. She checked that her hair was in the place and skirt straight before starting to walk down the stairs, trying not to make too much noise with her shoes.

She wasn’t sure what she should have thought of the meeting with George. It had been few years that they had seen each other and back then he had been just a baby comparing to Cynthia. A nice guy, of course and maybe a bit quiet from time to time, but when he opened his mouth he really talked.  
  
She had agreed to meet him mainly based on her warm memories of the younger boy. He had also sounded like he really had something important to say, and why would he have called Cynthia if it wasn’t?  
  
Cynthia couldn’t say that she wouldn’t have been hopeful about hearing some current information of her boyfriend. John had been so distant past these three weeks, even more than usual and Cynthia really wanted to know what had caused it. Because if she remembered right, it had been about three weeks ago that George had rung to ask him to visit and repair his flatmate’s computer. And John had agreed and stayed there right away for three days without really saying anything to Cynthia and when he had come back, he had changed. Spent his time in his room, saying that he needed to repair the computer as fast as he could as this Paul really needed it. But Cynthia knew that John had done the job in one day after his Aunt had left. And from that moment he had barely even glanced at Cynthia, not to mention talking.  
  
Their relationship was few inches away from breaking and Cynthia knew it. She just didn’t understand why, because they had been fine before George had come back into John’s life. She didn’t want to break up with John. She wanted to know what was wrong and fix it. She wanted to have her John back who was gentle with words and knew how to make her wet only by the tiniest wriggle of an eyebrow.  
  
She just hoped that George could help somehow.

***~**~***

“Shall we go over there?”  
  
“If you like.”  
  
“Great!”  
  
Cynthia and George were walking through the Hyde Park. George had spotted a bench that was fortunately already dry. The rain had stopped about two hours ago and now the sky was only grey, threatening to start a new flow of water any moment.  
  
They hadn’t exchanged much words yet, only the casual ones of ‘How are you’ and ‘The weather could be better’. George had felt from the moment that he had seen Cynthia that she had something important to talk about. And of course, so did George. He had rolled the upcoming dialogue in his mind for hundreds of times (of course he had written down how things would go) and wanted to make sure to use the exact, sympathetic words. He wasn’t totally heartless and did feel a bit bad for having to tell this to Cynthia, who was just so unaware of anything happening. But George would do anything to have his OTP together. Even ruin all the other relationships in the world.  
  
“So,” Cynthia started, sounding a bit nervous after they had been sitting about two minutes in silence. “You wanted to see me?”  
  
“Yeah,” George answered and looked up at the sky a bit worriedly. He didn’t want his phone to get wet.

It was a bit difficult to be with Cynthia. With her he had always been a bit quiet, not really knowing how to act around the girlfriend of a guy that he had a huge crush on. He guessed she had gotten that impression of him; shy and quiet but really sweet and nice. It amused George to no end how wrong she actually was.  
  
“About what?” Cynthia smiled encouragingly and George really hoped she would understand that it was _she_ who needed courage, not George. George would be done in five minutes if he didn’t care about Cynthia’s feelings as well. So it would take about five minutes to explain the thing and then twenty five to calm her down and tell that it wasn’t her fault. And then George would be free to go home before the sky would come crumbling down.  
  
“About John,” he said, adapting an apologising expression on his face. Cynthia stared at him with wide, worried eyes and then she tilted her head questioningly.  
  
“What about him?” she asked carefully and George brought the first sentence up from his memories.  
  
“See, Cyn dear, I wanna make sure that you understand that it’s not your fault. And that sometimes these things just happen.”  
  
“What things? George, what are you talking about?” she moved a bit closer and George closed his eyes and shook his head miserably.  
  
“I wouldn’t wanna be the one to tell you the news, but I just feel that you should know. ‘Cos you it’s hurting the most, for sure.”  
  
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”  
  
“See, Cyn, the thing is...” he took a deep breath and stopped the smug smile that was threatening to show through his sympathising mask. “The thing is that John’s a... that he’s gay.”  
  
He watched silently how disbelief slowly took place on Cynthia’s face and then she was shaking her head, looking at him with angry eyes.  
  
“He can’t be! He’s been with me for five years, George! I would know!”  
  
“I’m sorry hun,” George sighed and knew that his commentary was going fast to a dramatic soap-opera way, “but it takes many years from some people to understand it. And maybe he hadn’t thought about it before, ignored the thought, but now...” he chewed his bottom lip. “You see, Cyn...”  
  
“Tell me,” she looked at him with fiery eyes and he was glad he had all of this written down. He had guessed her reactions pretty well, actually.  
  
“You see, when he met my friend, Paul... There was immediately a certain spark between them. And, ye know, I know them both very well and I’ve followed during three weeks how they have... fallen in love with each other.”  
  
The look on Cynthia’s face was so shocked that George had to take a note on his acting skills. Which were actually truly awful but seemed to work, fortunately. Otherwise he would’ve been making a fool of himself.  
  
The truth was that he didn’t know if Paul and John loved each other. It was possible, somewhere inside their hearts, but George thought that they were now in the ‘huge crush that might turn into something more’ state. He also knew that within some time this feeling would fade away if they didn’t get a chance to know each other better, to get a chance to be together. And that’s why George was working so hard to do it _now_. And after perhaps six months of dating they could figure out that they loved each other. And the rest would be black suits and wedding cakes.

Although their first meeting had suggested that it was love at first sight. And George _loved_ it. It was so romantic.  
  
“But it— It can’t be possible...” Cynthia whispered quietly and George prepared himself to face the breakdown that was getting closer and closer any minute.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” he just said and lowered his eyes, trying to look as sorry as he could. He managed by imagining that Cynthia was Ringo and George had just accidentally bit his prick (which was truly huge, but that wasn’t what George was supposed to think at the moment).  
  
For ten minutes or so they sat in silence, Cynthia staring into emptiness and George waiting patiently. Then Cynthia raised her eyes and looked at George with flaming eyes.  
  
“I don’t believe it. Unless he breaks up with me and tells that he’s in love with a man, I won’t believe it.”  
  
“So you’ll continue with him?” George asked and Cynthia stood up, grabbing her bag.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“But you’re not happy with him anymore,” George actually managed to sound really sad (thinking that his OTP was sad and that made him sad as well) and Cynthia stopped and looked at him.  
  
“I am. I know him better than anyone. In a few weeks we’ll be just fine.”  
  
“I really don’t want you to get hurt with him,” George stood also up and stuffed his hands into his pocket, checking his phone in the progress. One message from Ringo. Probably asking how Number four was turning out.  
  
“I won’t,” Cynthia said but her voice quivered a bit, betraying her. George sighed and opened his arms, silently offering to embrace her. But Cynthia just shook her head.  
  
“See you on John’s birthday,” she then just said and turned, walked away proudly. George looked after her for a while and then shrugged his shoulders.  
  


George smiled before writing back:  
  
  
  
Now there was only the birthday party to wait for.  
  
He couldn’t help but break into a huge grin while hurrying home.

***~**~***

John stared at the green icon on Skype that told that Paul was online. He himself was showed as ‘offline’, mainly because he felt like avoiding people. Or people with a screen name called ‘Pula Mcartney’.  
  
He wasn’t actually avoiding. He just wasn’t talking to him. Not because it would have been awkward (it would have been) or that it would have made him cry over these feelings that he just happened to have (he had already cried over them). Not that he would have felt ashamed of liking Paul too much for his own good, no. But he had to admit that the almost-kissing –accident had really made things more difficult. The tiny possibilities for them to be best friends had crushed down really fast. Now there was only confusion and this huge sexual tension that John could feel hanging over the atmosphere even if he was sitting in his living room and Paul was probably in his own room.

John couldn’t deny the fact that he had already wanked off several times to the memory of _almost_ kissing Paul and then did it few times more when he allowed the memory to turn into a fantasy. It was just too much, the way Paul’s eyes seemed to gaze him, showing all his feelings, and when Paul smiled that smile that John liked to think was only for him. And they had basically met two times, _fuck_.  
  
He closed Skype and opened Chrome, going to check his Facebook. Pete Shotton had written something on John’s wall about the upcoming old age (rubbing it on his face, was the little shit) and his cousin had got to a new level in Farmville. He was just about to close the window when, however, a sound told him that there was a new message. He looked down and swallowed.  
  
Of course it had to be Paul. Of course John had forgotten to block Paul from the chat. Of course. The message simply said ‘hey’. But still it felt like the most difficult thing ever to type the answer. So he didn’t write a thing and waited, staring at the tiny FB icon that showed Paul’s smiling face. After a minute or two a new message appeared:  
  
  
  
John sighed and rested his fingers over the keyboard, glancing outside and wondering if Cyn was going to be away for some time more. He hoped she would.  
  
_‘caught me then’_ , he wrote and almost pressed enter before deleting the message and writing again.  
  
  
  
So, he was basically flirting with Paul. And the smiley, what had he thought? He wanted to slam his head against the computer screen but thought that even he couldn’t probably repair the damage after that.  
  
_‘never’_ , was Paul’s answer and John swallowed. He had actually been quite successful in hiding his true feelings towards the other. He didn’t write it of course.  
  
“I’m and idiot, y’know,” he said out loud at Creature who was resting on the armrest of a recliner, pretending that John didn’t exist.  
  
_‘about the computer’_ , Paul was writing and John saw him continue so he didn’t say anything.

  
  
John stared at the words and then slammed a hand over his mouth, stopping a mad laugh that had attempted to leave his mouth, and scaring the cat. He had almost forgotten what poems he had actually typed on Paul’s computer and that there was a sentence like that with them.  
  
_‘uh’_ , he just answered because what could he really say? Sorry mate that’s not directed to you though it really is but ignore it please ‘cos we can be only friends.  
  
Nah.  
  
_‘yeah’_ , was the answer.  
  
_‘want me to do something’_ , John then wrote, fully aware that he was suggesting a new visit. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he actually saw Paul now. Probably pushed him against the closest wall and snogged the hell out of him.  
  
And that was why he just _couldn’t_ see Paul.  
  
  
  
John sighed with relief and then chuckled at himself when he really read the sentence with his brain. Paul just made him feel so good—  
  
The door slammed shut loudly and John jumped, his head snapping to stare at the person who was standing in front of him, looking at him with wild eyes.  
  
“Hi?” he asked from Cynthia and reflexively turned the laptop screen a bit away so that his girlfriend (who looked like she had been running, John noted vaguely) wouldn’t see what he was doing.  
  
“Talking with Paul?” Cynthia then asked with a sweet smile and let her bag drop on the ground. John followed it with his eyes and blinked when it hit the floor before returning his eyes on Cynthia. She really looked like something had snapped in her head.  
  
“Uh, yeah,” he stuttered and smiled hesitatingly, “He’s got problems with the computer.”  
  
“I see,” Cynthia said tightly and John swallowed. He knew her well enough to say that he was in trouble. Why, he didn’t know, but probably it had something to do with the way he had treated her past these weeks. Or then Cynthia had noted John eating all of her strawberry yogurts. He wasn’t sure which option was worse.  
  
“Yeah,” he repeated and turned his eyes back on the screen, typing fast _‘cyn’s talking, guess i gotta listen’_ before looking at her again. “Everything all right?” he then asked carefully and tried a smile, not much succeeding though.

The message appeared into the box and John giggled to himself before realising that Cynthia was still staring at him with those scary eyes.  
  
“No John, I am not all right,” she spoke and John had a fleeting thought that this was going to be the final fight that would lead into a breakup and then he would be free. To have Paul.  
  
“Uh?” he tried not to show the happy face he was about to do, was just going to move his eyes back to the screen—  
  
Cynthia grabbed the computer from his hands and threw it over the room, it landing on the armchair on the other side of the sofa table. Creature let out a huge meow and disappeared fast towards the bedroom, neck hair sticking out towards the ceiling.  
  
“Cyn!!!” John gasped and tried to get up to get back to his beloved machine, but then Cynthia was suddenly in his lap, pressing him back to the sofa.  
  
“Oh John,” she said and now John recognised the tone in her voice.  
  
Horny Cynthia was the last thing he needed at the moment.  
  
“C-Cyn, what’re yo—“ he started but could never finish his sentence as Cynthia’s lips came crashing down on his, her mouth swallowing his words. And John did try to kiss her like he had once done, but couldn’t find the feeling. It just wasn’t right.  
  
“Wh-what are you doin’??” he stuttered when she gave him some time to speak. Cynthia just chuckled sweetly, like she always did and touched her finger on the collar of John’s pullover.  
  
“We haven’t had sex in ages.”  
  
“Uh, we haven’t,” John breathed, his expression showing his ‘what-is-sex’ –look. He glanced wildly around him, as if hoping to see George suddenly standing in the middle of their living room, offering to drag John away like he had always done when he wasn’t in the mood.  
  
“I want to fuck,” Cynthia then breathed, her breath ghosting over John’s lips and John swallowed. Cynthia didn’t ever use those kinds of words. When she wanted to have a fuck she would plead that John would make love to her or something like that. She never asked for a straight fuck.  
  
And then she was kissing him again, quickly taking the upper hand (which was really weird as it had always been John leading things). She stuffed her hands inside John’s shirt and kept them there for about ten seconds before she started to work on John’s buckle.  
  
“Jesus Christ Cyn, what’s wrong??” John gasped when Cynthia took him into her hand without so much of a greeting and started stroking him into hardness while kissing his neck, her other hand exploring John’s chest.  
  
“Please John,” she whispered then and John felt a bit relieved, as that sounded more familiar. There was still this mad glint in Cynthia’s eyes but he decided to ignore it.  
  
“What do you want me to do?” he asked and hated, really hated to admit that it felt really difficult to think of having sex with her. His mind had been wrapped up with a certain man for too long (three weeks) and before that they had barely even touched each other in a sexual way. It had been months since they had had sex. John wondered how on earth Cynthia could still think that their relationship was going well.  
  
“Just take me,” Cynthia answered and got John’s hand, placed it on her breast. For a while John just stared at his palm over her chest but then realised how stupid it must have looked like, him just being like a plastic model.  
  
If he hadn’t had the habit and the memory in his muscles of how to please her, he would have never made it. But now it was easy to push her down on the sofa, to kiss her and take her clothes off. It was easy to prepare her with his tongue. And it was easy to let her slip the condom on without losing his hardness.  
  
It was easy to thrust into her only because he imagined Paul’s brow furrowing from the slight pain. It was easy to run his hands up and down her body only because he imagined Paul sighing blissfully and placing his hand behind John’s neck, bringing his head down to kiss him.  
  
It was difficult not to gasp out Paul’s name when he came, making Cynthia moan feebly.  
  
He got up without a word, took the condom off and pulled on his briefs and jeans and the pullover. He walked past the armchair where his computer was still resting and he checked that it was still all right after such flight. And then he walked out to the terrace and lit up a fag, staring at the grey sky with empty eyes.  
  
It felt like he had cheated on Paul.  
  
And that was the final thing that proved to him that he really, really needed to end his current relationship.


	8. George Plays God

Sunday and Monday came and went; much with John staying inside the bedroom without letting Cynthia in (she was working anyway), writing his poems and mourning over the photos of Paul that the lad had added on Facebook. He would have preferred for the time to slow down, to have a TARDIS or something like that just so that he wouldn’t need to face the Tuesday that was creeping up. Because in Tuesday it would be exact 24 years of his birth.  
  
24 years.  
  
How awfully old he was. All right, not really, but it felt like that. 24 years. He didn’t want to get older. 23 years was a great age. Why couldn’t he just be 23 forever?  
  
But so, while he was busy worrying about dying of old age in few years, the light of the Tuesday morning broke its way into the bedroom and straight into his eyes, waking him up and causing another wave of self-pity.  
  
Happy birthday, then.  
  
Cynthia had probably understood something wrong about the party _not_ being one with costumes as she was doing a pretty good replica of the sun shining. During the morning, she went on and on about the party and the food and the friends and stuff that interested John in no ways. He just couldn’t bring himself to listen all that talking with all his attention and instead concentrated on collecting the unbalanced pieces of his mental state that was now, as the moment was approaching, fully aware of _who_ was coming to the party.  
  
He had managed to talk to Paul in Skype yesterday, mainly about the things that they would do during this evening. Drinking and eating, though Cynthia had wanted to put up some activities as well. John had kindly refused and said that ‘blokes aren’t really into spinning the bottle’. But then Paul had reminded him that it was one of George’s favourite games and John had almost hit his head against the wall because _of course_ it was his favourite game. When either you got your hands into the dirtiest secrets of your friends (containing the questions about ‘who’s your crush at the moment’ or ‘you don’t happen to be wetting your pants over your supposed-to-be-just-a-friend do you’) or either got everyone kiss each other (which meant that George could check out who was a good kisser and who was not and then decide who he was going to shag later).  
  
So that hadn’t really lifted up his spirits either, even if Paul had tried to comfort him by saying that he didn’t like parties either; there never were people interesting enough. At this point John had had to excuse himself and had closed the computer and rocked back and forth hugging his knees, trying not to have a breakdown over this one guy that would be interesting enough for John to spend the rest of his life in parties only if this guy was there as well. And that really made him think of his mental state.  
  
And with these memories from Monday in his mind, the evening got closer and closer still. John didn’t have any particular tasks to keep his mind from wandering to Paul, so he checked the guest list over and over in case Cynthia had added someone John _didn’t_ want to see. His old friend, Pete Shotton was coming from Liverpool and Ringo was going to be there, George and of course Paul as well. Also few of his female friends would be there so that Cynthia wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable when being surrounded by drunken young men.  
  
There were also some others but John found himself unable to remember their faces, mainly because his mind, without caring of his attempts to forget the lad, was still on Paul. And besides John hadn’t lifted a finger when it came to the guest list. It had been Cynthia who had taken care of inviting the others. George had said about three weeks ago that he and Ringo and Paul would be coming and that John had no word to it and Pete Shotton had kind of used the same tactic.  
  
And then the doorbell rang and John was about to have a panic attack. Cynthia pushed him forward to open the door and before John could really register it, was Pete standing in the doorway with a tiny present in his hand and a huge grin on his face.  
  
“It’s been so long!” he exclaimed too loudly before hugging John tightly and John just grumbled, not really in the mood to hug anyone. Except maybe one person.  
  
He had tiny hopes that he would get to hug him at least one time during this evening.

***~**~***

The party was in a full motion when the doorbell rang couple of times really impatiently. It took no time for John to count the people in the room and come to a conclusion that only three were missing. So he sprang up maybe way too impatiently, pushed Cynthia away as she had already been ready to go open the door and almost ran at the door, ignoring Pete’s (already) drunken shout of ‘sweetheart comin’, eh???????’.  
  
He swung the door open faster than he had thought it would move and miraculously, felt a grin on his lips for the first time today.  
  
“Happy birthday!!!” George yelled so that probably everyone in this part of the city heard it, but for once John didn’t mind his friend. Because behind George, smiling widely, hair styled into a messy pile that did look good, was standing Paul. Their eyes met for few seconds and John could have sworn that Paul started blushing before he looked away, seeming suddenly shy. And John did understand, as he himself was battling between running out of the window or just hiding into the loo for the rest of his life. Things were sure as hell going to be awkward. Seeing as the last time they had seen John had almost kisSED HIM.  
  
Shh, he told his brain and tried to count some mathematical problems.  
  
And then George was hugging him for dear life and John had difficulties to breath. It always amazed him how much force there was in that skeleton. Maybe all that shagging did good for one’s muscles.  
  
After good five minutes he really wanted his breath back and he pushed George away to move to hug Ringo shortly, the older guy beaming and wishing him happy birthday with a warm smile. John didn’t say anything but pulled away and swallowed. It was probably rude how he ignored him, but everyone always ignored Ringo. Except George, who was mainly after his dick. And Ringo preferred it that way; he could sneak himself anywhere and listen to all the juicy gossip. Ringo was to be feared of. (John loved the man.)  
  
He turned and faced Paul who was swaying on his heels, waiting for his turn to congratulate his friend. And the tension that was suddenly in the air was unbearable. What were they going to do? How were they going to sort this mess out? What was John supposed to say? And hell, Cynthia was watching and everything, everyone was looking, and they were just staring at each other and John thought he was starting to blush and—  
  
“Um, happy birthday, mate,” Paul said and scratched at the back of his neck, looking as awkward as John was feeling. He sighed breath quivering and nodded with a shaky smile.  
  
“Yeah, thanks. Um…”  
  
“Oh for fuck’s sake, just hug so we can go to see the others!” George huffed frustrated and both John and Paul gave him a middle finger like synchronised robots. Ringo started to laugh into his palm and George just crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes sweeping between John and Paul like he was watching tennis.  
  
“Sorry George, but this party isn’t for fuckin’, or shippin’ anyone,” John stated blankly and George rolled his eyes before continuing to stare at him intensely, without saying a word. John felt really uncomfortable under his gaze.  
  
And then he realised that that was what it was.  
  
It had been that all the fucking time.  
  
George. Was. Fucking. _Shipping them_ —  
  
“I don’t understand your obsession, George,” Paul’s spoke and John turned his head just in time to see Paul taking a step forward before he wrapped his arms around John and hugged him, and John had difficulties to breath but from a totally different reason than with George. Hesitantly he hugged Paul back and heard Paul say quietly:  
  
“Happy birthday, again. Don’t worry ‘bout George.”  
  
“If I had ever done I’d be dead by now,” John muttered back against Paul’s ear and felt Paul shudder. And fuck, he could feel George radiating something dark and dangerous from where he was standing not too far away.  
  
But still it took longer than he had intended to pull back. He just couldn’t find the force within himself to do the needed shift that would have told the other that the embrace was over. But because Paul didn’t move either the hug just continued and continued and John started to feel really hot, not because it would have been hot in the room but because he had _Paul in his arms_ and it felt _so_ good.  
  
He probably wouldn’t ever have let him go if Cynthia hadn’t called him with a strange voice to get more crisps and he and Paul pulled abruptly apart, John hurrying into the kitchen without glancing back.  
  
He leant against the countertop and took a deep breath before opening the crisp bag and letting the crisps fall into a big bowl.

 _’That guy. That **fucking** bastard, I’ll feed him too much crisps so that he dies on overeating and then I’ll throw his body out of the window for stray dogs to eat, I’ll fucking **kill** him_.’ He ran a hand through his hair; causing them to stick all over the place just like the tenth Doctor’s and felt like smashing the bowl against the wall. George. Fucking. Shipped. Them.  
  
It was so plain. It had been so visible all the time and he hadn’t realised. He was a fucking idiot. All that, and right from the beginning... Probably from the moment when George had realised that John could repair Paul’s computer. It had been all set up and John had fallen into the trap without understanding anything, the dangerous grins that George gave and the words he had said there, in the first night, when he had almost kissed John and all the things he had said...  
  
_"'s not always 'bout that, y'know."_  
  
No. It was not about whether John and Paul were straight or not. It was about them being victims in George’s little game and when you once got into that, your sexuality, age, or gender didn’t matter.  
  
The fucking bastard had been there all the time, pulling the strings and making things go with the way _he_ wanted. And Ringo was probably in it as well. And John had been so blind.  
  
Did Paul know? He hoped not.  
  
It was maybe better if he didn’t do anything. Only followed George a bit more and made a tiny note every time when he pushed John and Paul closer to each other.  
  
It wasn’t really fair, how George didn’t leave them alone, didn’t give them a chance to build their relationship on their own. But on the other hand, if he was being honest with himself, John couldn’t help but feel a bit hopeful. Because if he hadn’t had Cynthia, he would already be asking Paul out, and what he knew about George was that he wasn’t that kind of a person who would let John break up when he himself felt that he was ready. He didn’t know if George had already done something (a vague thought of the _sex_ crossed his mind and he wondered if that had been Cynthia reacting to something that George had done. Quite possible, actually, knowing both George and Cynthia) but surely he was going to.  
  
Maybe he would just have to give George all access to this thing and just... follow him.  
  
If he ever wanted to be with Paul, he would need to stand through this. And that mainly meant the party.  
  
George would pay for this, but only after John had got Paul to himself.  
  
And with those thoughts he forced a smile on his face and walked into the living room where the music hit the ears forcefully (Jimi Hendrix of course) and everybody was laughing. He sat on the sofa before realising that he would end up sitting next to Paul, who eyed him with hesitation and awkwardness pouring out from this body.  
  
“All right?” John asked and Paul nodded before turning his eyes on George, who was making up some kind of a lap dance to Ringo, who in turn was just laughing his arse off. A silence fell between them where John kept on looking at Paul from the corner of his eye and Paul kept his eyes firmly on George, even if the look he had on his face told that he would have preferred to look at anything else but _that_.  
  
And because John had nothing else to do and because he felt desperate and was angry at George, he drank a beer and another and offered one to Paul as well (or two) and before he really registered it had happened, he was comfortably pissed and was laughing and joking with Paul about shoes. Paul was leaning on his shoulder, a happy drunken smile on his face, wrinkles in the corners of his eyes when they nearly closed while he was laughing hysterically at John pulling different maniac faces.  
  
And then George lifted up a coca cola bottle and yelled ‘Spin the bottle’ louder than he could ever shout while being sober and there was whooping while the table was moved away and everyone was dragged down to the floor. John tried to protest but his mind was too dumb to really say anything that would have stopped him from lowering himself from the sofa to the floor. He was still sitting next to Paul, their thighs pressed firmly together as there was not much space in the middle of the living room.  
  
“Which rules are we gonna use?” Pete Shotton asked and John caught George and Ringo grinning at each other before George exclaimed cheerfully:  
  
“Truth and dare is for sissies. We’re gonna play it with _kissing_!”  
  
Few groans were being heard and Cynthia seemingly paled and John was about to open his mouth to say something as well, when George placed the bottle on the floor and with a flick from his wrist spun it. Everyone tensed up, fell silent and looked with anticipation how the bottle slowly turned to point at Ringo.  
  
“AH!” Ringo and George cried in unison and then they were suddenly in the middle of a heated make-out session that gave the others some time to think if they really wanted to be in this game (and also a vague description of the idea here if someone wasn’t aware of it).  
  
“George has practised,” Paul spoke quietly and John turned his eyes on him, examining his face with a slight smile without realising that he was wearing it.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“I mean, he’s practised to spin it just so that he gets it to any person he wants,” Paul glanced at him and smiled carefully, suddenly feeling much less drunk than he had been just ten seconds ago. John’s eyebrows rose up to his hairline.  
  
“He... practises,” he answered blankly and Paul started to giggle hysterically, looking absolutely adorable. John felt and urge to lift his hand and touch Paul’s nose and maybe plant a light kiss on his forehead but managed to resist it. Even in his pissed state he realised that Cynthia was probably watching them. He could _feel_ her eyes burning a hole into John’s neck.  
  
George and Ringo were finishing their kiss and they parted panting, Ringo gasping for breath and George chuckling breathlessly.  
  
“God, marry me,” Ringo just breathed then and George swallowed, nodded without saying any other word. The others in the room cheered and George punched Ringo in the stomach before coughing, voice rasped.  
  
“Spin it, baby.”  
  
And so Ringo spun the coca cola bottle and the game was on. All of the guests quickly turned into a giggling bunch of teenagers and finally George put up some more rules; if you hesitated more than five seconds, you had to do a French kiss. If you hesitated more than ten seconds you would have to French kiss and then go for a neck. And if you hesitated more than fifteen seconds you had to give head.  
  
With these rules the game went on pretty quickly, no one hesitating more than three or four seconds. They got French kisses as well; when Ringo and George got to kiss again they giggled for about 12 seconds before the guy (John had forgotten the name) next to George pushed him on the back, this causing George to fall forward and him and Ringo finally start kissing. No one really wanted them to have sex at the moment, at least not in front of everyone.  
  
John had French kissed with Pete Shotton because while trying to get as fast as he could to John, who was sitting on the other side of the circle, Pete had fallen down on the floor. Unfortunately it had taken some time for him to get up and kiss John, who had been waiting next to him and waving his hands hysterically. He really was not in the mood to give _blowjobs_. He had also kissed George who had skilfully spun the bottle so that it had pointed straight at John. John had dashed over the circle and George had dashed away, shouting ‘Come on, gimme head’. John had caught him at 13 seconds and had never been more relieved.  
  
And now it was his turn to spin, sitting back on his place next to Paul, out of breath for first having run behind George and then having him kissing the hell out of him; George was a good kisser, John had to admit and he had kissed back just as forcefully, to be truthful. He could hear through the blood rushing in his ears how George was talking to Ringo about having wobbly legs. He sounded like he was in awe and John felt a tiny smug smile form on his lips. He reached forward and spun the bottle, hearing Pete saying ‘I wouldn’t mind if I had to kiss him again. He’s too good’ before the bottle slowed down and stopped.  
  
The only thing that John registered was the hysteric squeak from George.  
  
And then he lifted his face and met Paul’s wide brown eyes staring at him with an emotion that John swore was pure panic.  
  
He swallowed and heard someone shout, ‘six seconds, mates!’.


	9. George Is Somewhere Probably Having Sex

_He reached forward and spun the bottle, hearing Pete saying ‘I wouldn’t mind if I had to kiss him again. He’s too good,’ before the bottle slowed down and stopped.  
  
The only thing that John registered was the hysteric squeak from George.  
  
And then he lifted his face and met Paul’s wide brown eyes staring at him with an emotion that John swore was pure panic.  
  
He swallowed and heard someone shout, ‘six seconds, mates!’._  
  
No. No. It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t have his first kiss with Paul in the middle of a stupid bottle game. In front of _everyone_. He had wanted to be alone with him; he had wanted to start slowly, gently, not rushing straight into a fucking French kiss. He had wanted to get rid of Cynthia first; He had wanted to be able to kiss Paul as many times as he could in a row, not change a quick hot kiss and then go back pretending that they were just... mates.  
  
Even if he had decided to just follow George and his doings he suddenly had an urge to go and search the lad’s biggest dildo, stuff it into his mouth and prevent him from breathing. Maybe George would even die on choking, preferably. But he would probably also enjoy it, the buggering slut.  
  
This was just not. _Fair_.  
  
“Eight!” he heard and his heart jumped up into his throat, cold sweat running down his neck suddenly. No. Eight.  
  
He had to act; he just had to, despite the awfulness of it all. Whatever was going to happen he was _not_ going over ten seconds, because George had already proved his rules unbreakable. And Paul seemed to think the same, as he moved forward with wide eyes and John moved also, supporting his weight on his knees. He heard Ringo slowly counting, heard George’s wheezing breaths, and heard Paul taking a deep breath and saw him close his eyes.  
  
So he closed his own as well and hesitating just one more painful second pressed his lips against Paul’s.  
  
At first it was careful, feeling; it was soft and just the lightest of touches. John could feel something like uncertainty radiating from Paul and trying to make him feel better, he touched Paul’s hand with his own, making the other jump slightly. At that they both chuckled, against each other’s mouths and that caused the kiss to turn a bit bolder. However, their lips were still closed and they only changed tiny pecks, touching, learning.  
  
There was a shout of ‘come on, you can do better than that’ but John ignored it, because of the electricity that was running up and down his spine. Because Paul’s smell filled his nose and his breathing was in John’s ears. And even if it was just a stupid game his heart was pounding like this really was that romantic first kiss he had imagined. His hand squeezed Paul’s fingers and Paul sighed into his mouth, his free hand holding John’s knee.  
  
And then John took a deep breath through his nostrils and bracing his shaking mind and body, went in for a kill.  
  
Because it was supposed to be a French kiss after all.  
  
Paul’s hand took a hold of his shirt, tugging him closer while John’s hands came up to hold Paul’s head. He turned his head and opened his mouth, touched the younger man’s lips with his tongue and felt Paul shudder. But the other opened his mouth, though perhaps a bit hesitantly.  
  
Their tongues met and if John hadn’t felt hot before, now he surely did. He licked his way into Paul’s mouth and Paul started sucking on his tongue while wrapping his other arm around John’s shoulders, kept it there for a while before it came up and took a hold of John’s hair, forcing him to tilt his head even more. Then he took over the kiss, thrust his tongue into John’s mouth and John wasn’t really sure how to react to someone kissing him like that. He decided that it wasn’t really important and the thought was gone soon anyway, at the moment they slid their tongues together and John turned his head to the other side. He opened his jaw wide open, covering Paul’s mouth wholly and putting everything into this kiss that was their first. And even if he was drunk, and it was just George’s plotting and the time wasn’t right for this, _and_ everyone (including his girlfriend) was watching, he felt happy and full. Because it was the best first kiss he had ever had. And Paul tasted like crisps and alcohol and chocolate and John was hooked. So he took it as a mission to make sure that he got _everything_ out of that taste.  
  
They parted when neither John nor Paul was able to breathe anymore and it started to make John feel light in his head. He pulled a bit back and stared at Paul, trying to catch his breath but not much succeeding. He ended up panting like an old dog, but it did make him feel better that Paul seemed to be in a same kind of a state; his cheeks were deep red, eyes clouded and lips parted, a bit of saliva glinting on his lower lip.  
  
“Wow man, I really need to kiss him again,” Pete was the first to comment and people started to laugh, drunken giggles filling the room. John lowered his hands from Paul’s cheeks after keeping them there for few seconds and took a deep breath.  
  
“All right?” Paul asked with a somewhat shaky voice and John nodded, managing a smile. His legs felt wobbly and he felt his hands shaking.  
  
“Okay okay, I need to pee!” George yelled over the laughing, “Everyone, have a peeing pause!”  
  
“You’re just gonna have a wank,” somebody answered and George bent over with laughter, chortling without being able to control himself. "Why when I have Ringo," was his answer and so he and Ringo disappeared together somewhere. People started to split up, someone going to the kitchen, someone going to the loo, someone going out to the terrace to smoke, and so left on the living room floor were only John and Paul. They had remained sitting where they were, Paul’s hands a bit awkwardly on John’s other leg where they had fallen and John’s hands on his own lap. Their thighs were still touching, John noted.  
  
“It...” Paul started then and glanced around them, looking very nervous like he feared that George would jump from under the sofa and shout ‘gayyyyys’. John was more worried about Cynthia, though. She was nowhere to be seen and John wasn’t sure at what point she had left and where, he didn’t really care. As long as she stayed away from where John was now.  
  
“Yeah,” he answered and he and Paul glanced at each other, Paul blushing furiously and John feeling his neck getting hot. Again his thoughts were disturbed by the fact that he would be with Paul already, if it wasn’t for Cynthia. He had said it so many times he started to feel like he was repeating himself. But he and Paul matched so well; this kiss had been the final proof. Even if it still pissed him off, why it had happened, it had been so amazing that John couldn’t really find anything to complain.  
  
“I don’t—“ Paul took a deep breath but cut himself off, shook his head slightly. “I don’t usually go ‘round kissing... well, boys.”  
  
Oh yeah. It had been, what John knew, Paul’s first experience of kissing a male. He bit his lip and forced a tiny smile on his lips that felt like they were on fire after all that kissing.  
  
“Well, I hope I didn’t... uh, destroy your... something... um...” he trailed off and had to admit that he had totally forgotten what he had meant to say. Paul licked his lips, the last bit of saliva disappearing into his mouth. John wasn’t sure if it had been his or Paul’s. The thought made him hot anyway.  
  
“Uh, um, I guess no?” the dark-haired man then offered carefully and John got lost into his eyes. Once again. Time after time. Always.  
  
Paul watched him for a moment and then, as if he couldn’t really stop himself, his gaze flicked down to John’s lips before they were back on his eyes. He blushed again, his face now deep red and then he lifted his hands from John’s leg, keeping them up in the air in a moment of uncertainty before wrapping them around his chest.  
  
“John, I—“ he started again and John wondered if he could ever manage to say a whole sentence anymore because it seemed quite impossible.  
  
Why was that, actually?  
  
It wasn’t like kissing your friend was _that_ awkward? Pete was just fine snogging the hell out of John. George was more than fine (well, George didn’t really count as a friend)(just some vague piece of cellules that existed to make people’s life hard (in any sense of the word)) and Ringo wouldn’t have any problems. John was actually sure that he could kiss any of his friends and they would just happily kiss back and then go on about needing to buy bananas or something. So why was it so difficult for Paul? When they had known each other for that amount of time already, when they were clearly _close_ friends. Was Paul one of those persons who just couldn’t brush it off as a game?  
  
But John had already been about to kiss him once, so maybe Paul had got into the state where he thought that John was attracted to him and he only felt friendly feelings towards him and didn’t know how to tell John this.  
  
But Paul _had_ kissed him back. He had had his hand in John’s _hair_ , bloody hell! What did that mean then???  
  
“Are you all right?” he said over Paul’s vague mumbling of murdering George. John felt like Paul thought about that often. How could he ever have him as a flatmate as John wouldn’t stand George more than a week in the same flat (he had tried, thank you)?  
  
“What?” Paul looked at him before nodding several times really fast. “Y-yeah, I’m all right. Really fine. I just... Because, y’know... um, we, um, kissed.”  
  
John stared at him for a while (knowing well that he was reddish at his cheeks) and then chuckled shakily.  
  
“Yeah, we did,” he mumbled quietly and leant a bit in, seeing Paul’s eyes widen and his mouth open. He grinned, closed his eyes and without saying anything knocked his forehead against Paul’s. He let it rest there for a while before opening his eyes and meeting Paul’s that were now watching him with an amused glint in them.  
  
“I never thought...” Paul started then and spoke really quietly with a husky tone. “I never thought that I’d ever... kiss you.”  
  
“Yeah,” John mumbled and tried not to show the hurt in his voice. Of course Paul hadn’t thought about it, because that isn’t a normal thing for friends to think, or is it? ‘Oh I wish I could snog my new friend today!’  
  
John highly doubted that it was normal. It didn’t mean that everyone had same kind of thoughts as he and he clearly had been obsessing over Paul since they had met. For _him_ it was normal to have that kind of thoughts in this point. Hell, in this point he was ready to do anything to be able to be with Paul. Except the one thing that he really needed to do.  
  
“I mean, it wasn’t unpleasant,” Paul said with a hurried voice and John arched his eyebrows as much as he could with his forehead pressed against Paul’s one. Somehow he didn’t feel a great need to move and he suspected that Paul felt the same as well, as he was still here with John. He ignored the happy skip his heart did at Paul’s words and managed to hide his huge smile behind a more modest one.  
  
“No, it wasn’t,” he answered and Paul was about to start a smile that was probably going to go up to his ears when they heard a door banging and both jumped, John turning his head to see what happened, Paul only lifting his own as he was already facing the door.  
  
“I really wish they wouldn’t start breakin’ things,” John mumbled then and Paul giggled and wrinkled his nose.  
  
“They’re dead arseholed,” he stated and John rolled his eyes.  
  
“Wow for Jesus’ pubic hair, I’d have never guessed, or _known_ as it was my beer they were drinking!”  
  
“I drank it as well,” Paul fluttered his eyelids and John laughed and punched him on the side. Paul grabbed a sofa pillow and was just about to attack him with it when Ringo walked calmly into the living room, a satisfied but also a bit confused smile on his face.  
  
“Cynthia’s left.”  
  
“What??”  
  
“You heard,” Ringo nodded towards the door. “Said that the party was getting a bit too hard for her and so she’ll kip the night over someone whose name started with M.”  
  
“She left???” John stared at Ringo like he couldn’t believe it and there was a bit of worry in his voice as well. Paul turned his head away and started twitching the pillow in his hands.  
  
“Well, yeah, want me to spell it?” Ringo rolled his eyes and threw himself on the sofa. “Don’t you worry, she said that she’ll be back tomorrow after work and that the house is better be clean when she arrives.”  
  
John grimaced and glanced at Paul who was suddenly acting like he didn’t even see John (which was a bit stupid, as their thighs were still touching).  
  
Perhaps the kissing game had been too much for her. Although she had only kissed someone that had left the circle at some point to throw up because he had drunk too much, it hadn’t perhaps done good to see John with all the gu...  
  
And it hit him. Again.  
  
For the third time that night he felt an irresistible urge to kill George.  
  
“Did... Did George leave last weekend to go somewhere at some time?” he asked his hands squeezed into fists and Paul looked at him eyebrows risen up to his hairline.  
  
“Yeah? I guess?”  
  
“How can you not know if he left? One should notice George’s absence,” Ringo frowned and Paul chuckled faintly.  
  
“Uh, I was busy—“  
  
“Watchin’ porn then,” Ringo nodded to himself and Paul was about to open his mouth with an expression that said ‘no I didn’t’ when he suddenly stopped, looked like he was thinking, and then he nodded slowly.  
  
“Yeah, I was. But that’s not the point. Why'd you wanna...” he trailed off and looked at the auburn-haired man next to him who stared back at him with a blank face.  
  
“Porn,” John stated then and Paul shrugged, mumbled ‘yeah’ without so much of a blink.  
  
“Uh, I’m jus’ thinkin’,” John answered then and looked away, his brown furrowing.  
  
The possibilities were almost 110 per cent that George and Cynthia had met each other. And John didn’t even want to think of the per cents when it came to the possibility that George had told Cynthia something like ‘John’s gay’ or something.  
  
That would maybe also explain _the sex_ that had taken place after she had came back.  
  
And her expression when he had said that he was talking with Paul. And now, John had...  
  
He had kissed Paul and after that they had stayed here, only each other for company and if you looked from the door, their forehead-against-forehead could be very well mistaken as...  
  
Kissing.  
  
“Oh fuck,” he groaned and buried his head into his hands, ignoring Ringo’s curious ‘what’ and the confused look that he knew Paul was giving him. This was exactly what he had feared, but also hoped for. But everything he had ever done had been in the means of not breaking Cynthia’s heart, at least not so forcefully. And now it seemed that exactly that had happened.  
  
He wondered how many days it would take for her to kick him out. Maybe it was better to start packing.  
  
“John, what...” Paul started and John glanced at him, taking a deep breath.  
  
He would be free. But he knew that if he tried, if he really told Cynthia that he hadn’t meant it and really put an effort to repair their relationship, she would forgive him and everything would be fine again. For Cynthia, of course.  
  
And besides, John couldn’t even be sure that Paul would want to be with him. He didn’t know anything about Paul’s feelings, only that he thought that the kiss hadn’t been unpleasant. And that he did like John as a friend, John could tell. He cursed his non-existing ability to read people.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” he said and faked a smile that he knew would never fail Paul. He saw it from the way Paul’s brow furrowed and how he tilted his head slightly, his lips squeezed tightly shut in a suspecting line.  
  
“Yeah, fine, don’t tell then,” the dark-haired man then muttered sourly and stood up, smoothing up the wrinkles in his t-shirt in the progress. And then he just walked out of the room, not saying another word. John stared at his back before it disappeared into the kitchen, and then he turned his head on Ringo who was watching him with a bored expression.  
  
“John, you are now officially the king of all the idiots in the world.”  
  
“I don’t even know what I did!” John protested and wrapped his arms around himself, sighing deeply. “Why does this have to be so complicated???”  
  
Ringo looked at him for a while in silence and then turned on his back, resting his hands behind his head.  
  
“Guess you two are jus’ so thick-headed.”  
  
John didn’t even dare to question what he meant. Not now, not here.  
  
What a party.

***~**~***

Paul closed the door of the loo and fell on top the toilet, letting out a shaky breath. He had wandered around the house searching for a place for him to be able to think a bit and had fortunately, and a bit surprisingly, found this particular room empty.  
  
He couldn’t believe it. John had actually kissed him.  
  
John had actually KISSED HIM.  
  
HE COULDN’T BELIEVE THAT JOHN HAD ACTUALLY KISSED HIM.  
  
And he had kissed back. And it had been the fucking _best_ kiss _ever_. Fucking _BEST_. Even if it had been just a game. THEY HAD KIS S E D!!!!!!!!1!!!  
  
He knew he was being hysteric but he had all the rights. Because he had waited, and he had thought that he would never get to kiss John.  
  
Of course he had gotten a bit sour at the mention of Cynthia. He knew he was being jealous and that he really didn’t have the rights for that, as she was John’s girlfriend (he just hoped that not for long). But he just couldn’t help it how his mood always fell when he thought about her. It wasn’t her fault, of course, and Paul was just being unfair when hoping her misery. But then again, he would be ready to fucking marry George if he could only be with John. He would do _anything_ , so one broken heart didn’t matter. Paul’s heart had already broken a few times, mostly because he couldn’t help but imagine John and Cynthia having sex. Few days ago it had been plain what was happening; John had been online, his chatbox probably still open and Paul had stared at it hopelessly, knowing well what was going on.  
  
John hadn’t come back later, so he could only imagine how much cuddling and kissing had taken place after _the sex_. And he hated to admit it but he had cried himself to sleep (not really, just few tears in the corners of his eyes that he had been unable to block) and had had a nightmare about that; how John had just wrote ‘Cynthia’s talking to me’ and then had sex. And Paul had fucking _dreamed_ it.  
  
John having sex had been a hot image though and now when he repeated the bottle game in his mind, he couldn’t say that it hadn’t affected him any ways to see John kissing people. And he was just so good..!  
  
He touched his lips with his fingers in his thoughts and chuckled slightly when he realised he had been doing it. That mouth, those lips had touched Paul’s. Paul had had his tongue in John’s mouth, for fuck’s sake! He couldn’t stop the smug grin that spread on his face when he thought about Cynthia seeing it. Had John ever kissed her like that? How long had it been since John had kissed her with such force and passion? How long had it been that he had actually kissed her?  
  
The jealous monster in the back of his head reminded him that probably not so long, as the sex had only happened few days ago.  
  
But maybe it hadn’t been John who had started it? Maybe he had just gone on with Cynthia because that was what he was supposed to do, after all. They had talked about it so much anyway, how all John wanted was just to break up with her but he didn’t dare?  
  
Could Paul help him somehow? Give him courage or something?  
  
He rubbed at his lower lip and sighed. This kiss was probably going to remain as their only one, as there would never be a chance for John to be attracted to him as much as Paul was attracted to John. Yeah, there had been that scene in the kitchen when John had almost kiSSED HIM but that had been a mistake. Paul had come to a conclusion that it had probably been some bi-curious stuff, because why would John kiss him otherwise? But then again, if he wanted to try something he could do it with George or Ringo just fine as they wouldn’t be too difficult to convince into doing queer stuff. Or Pete Shotton who seemed to be just fine kissing his old friend. So why had John wanted to kiss him? Was it Paul's girly eyes? Was it just a moment? Had he had a hot dream of some actress (Of Scarlett Johansson, for example. Paul _knew_ that John had hots for her) and then he had just been horny?  
  
Or was it possible... that John fancied him too?  
  
All that times when the man had smiled at him without a reason and all those times when he had looked at Paul like...  
  
Like Paul looked at John.  
  
His hand fell down and his mouth opened slightly. No. There was _no_ way, _ever_ that John would have liked him. It was just impossible. Just, just...  
  
He didn’t want to feel hope because it would be crushed down anyway. It would be easier if he thought that John had no feelings for him as he wouldn’t have anything to wish or wait for.  
  
“Paul?” a sudden muffled voice called from the other side of the door and Paul looked up, swallowing.  
  
“Yeah?” he asked with a shaky voice and he could hear John taking a deep breath.  
  
“Look, mate, I’m sorry of... of whatever I said, I’m not even sure. But if it’s about not tellin’ this... this thought that I had, I just, it’s not—“  
  
“It’s okay,” Paul interrupted and John shut down immediately. Paul could imagine him standing behind the door, looking nervous and fidgeting his fingers just to have something to do.  
  
He stood up with a sigh and walked to the door, opened the lock and after that, the door.  
  
He stared at John and once again found him to be the most beautiful creature in the whole world. Scarlett Johansson didn’t stand a fucking chance when it came to John’s auburn hair shining in the light, his brown beautiful eyes examining Paul with care and the sleeves of his red polo-neck (John really, _really_ liked them polo-necks) rolled up to his elbows. His lips were still a bit reddish from the kissing and Paul felt his mouth water at the sight, at the thought of kissing John.  
  
“I’m sorry,” John then only said and moved his hands to his back, probably lacing his beautiful fingers together. Paul loved his hands.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” he muttered and shook his head. “I just... don’t like it when something that clearly contains me is kept from me. George always... He’s been really unbearable during the last few weeks.”  
  
“Yeah, say no more,” John laughed quietly and Paul giggled. He had forgotten that John and George hadn’t really had any contact with each other in few years or so before Paul’s computer had needed repairing.  
  
They fell into a silence where John was staring at Paul and Paul was staring somewhere over the level of John’s waist. Paul thought it was awkward; how they just stood there and stared at each other after such a kiss and a tiny argument. But still he couldn’t bring himself to speak—  
  
“I think Cynthia’s gonna break up with me,” John whispered and Paul’s head snapped up so fast that his neck cracked.  
  
“What?” he asked and his eyes swept between John’s eyes, searching for an answer. John though was now doing his best to avoid Paul’s gaze.  
  
“Yeah,” he mumbled, scratched at his neck and then wrapped his arms around himself.  
  
“I’d say that it’s about time or somethin’ but...”  
  
“You don’t wanna?” Paul asked and couldn’t help but add a bit of that icy feeling he had gotten into his heart into his words. John winced and shook his head.  
  
“No. I mean, I do want to... break up. But with the way it’s gonna happen... I never wanted to hurt her so much,” he explained and Paul nodded understandingly. He crossed his arms over his chest; almost mirroring John’s pose and then leant on the doorjamb. He hated to see how lost John looked at the moment, between walls that were closing on him and how he had no chances of getting out.  
  
“You could always, y’know...” he paused and took a deep breath, not really believing he was really suggesting it. “Take her out to dinner and try to... fix things, y’know.”  
  
“I’ve thought about that,” John sighed and looked around himself helplessly. “But it would only make me miserable, to continue in this relationship. If she’s gonna break it, I’ll go with it. But I don’t want her to be sad.”  
  
“You really care about her,” Paul mumbled and bit his lip. Would it be ever possible for John to care about him as much?  
  
“I jus’ know her so well. Guess I want the best for her and that’s not with me,” John shook his auburn-haired head slightly and lifted his hand over his eyes. “I’m not a good person, not really.”  
  
And that was the last cut that Paul was ready to take, the last cut that caused the string to snap and his mind go totally wild.  
  
He grabbed John and without giving him any time to do anything, hurled the man past him into the toilet and kicked the door closed with much more force that was needed. He turned to look at John who stood in the middle of the tiny room in a position that he had got into while trying to keep his balance with Paul’s forceful dragging. The older man opened his mouth to probably question what was Paul doing, (and for George’s lost virginity’s sake, Paul didn’t know either) but didn’t have any time to actually voice his thoughts when Paul walked forward, grabbed a hold of John’s shirt and pushed him against the wall.  
  
“Don’t you ever,” he started through gritted teeth, “even _try_ to say that you’re not good. You’re the most wonderful person I’ve _ever_ met, the funniest, wittiest, most _beautiful_ guy that I know. So _shut up_!”  
  
“Paul—“ John started and his eyes were wide and wild when they looked at Paul with some kind of a fright in them. And then his gaze glanced down, towards Paul’s lips and Paul lost it, wrapped up in this feeling, in want and attraction that he held towards the other man.  
  
His lips came crashing down on John’s and emitted a surprised sound from the man pinned against the wall. And because he knew that this would be the last kiss ever, that there would never be chances to go back pretending that they were just friends, because he would probably never even see John again after this, he put his everything into this. He made sure to share all the passion, jealousness and that _burning_ inside him that felt like it was only increasing. The longer he kissed John, fisted his shirt and pressed his own body against the other’s one, the more he burnt and he just _needed_ to... to...  
  
“Paul,” John gasped into his mouth and for one moment Paul pulled back, stared into John’s heavy-lidded eyes, trying to catch his breath. Five seconds passed with them saying nothing, just staring and breathing heavily. And then John’s hand grabbed a hold of Paul’s neck and pulled his head towards his while John leant in and pressed his open mouth against Paul’s. Paul’s hands wrapped around him ever-so-tightly and they tumbled backwards, the younger man’s back hitting the wall where the towels were hanging and then it was him pressed up against the wall, receiving the hottest kiss of his life.  
  
He thought he would go mad when John’s hand sneaked up inside his shirt, grabbing his chest for a moment and then moving to his back, there running up and down his spine. He in return grabbed a hold of John’s head with both of his hands and forced it to the side, their jaws opening up wide, their teeth colliding and tongues rubbing wetly against each other. Paul tugged at John’s hair, like he was trying to rip it all off. John pressed himself against Paul, their chests meeting.  
  
John’s both hands then came to rest on his waist comfortingly and Paul wrapped his arms around John’s neck, bringing him as close as he could. The kiss had been dirty, rushed and hot, but now it turned into something more. They kissed slowly with passion, eyes closed and waving slightly on their feet. From that it turned a bit by bit into pecks which faded away until it was just them, hugging each other, foreheads touching.

Neither one dared to speak, Paul for not trusting his voice enough, John for not breaking the atmosphere that had wrapped around them at some point.  
  
They could hear the party going on in the living room, someone had changed to music to Lady Gaga and there was George yelling over the music ‘SHUT DOWN THAT BLOODY CRAP’ and laughing and whooping and whistling.  
  
“I hate parties,” John finally mumbled after good five minutes of them being there in their tiny bubble and Paul giggled, nuzzled at John’s cheek with the corner of his lips. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by John, who turned his head a bit and opened his eyes.  
  
They stared at each other, sudden silence in the world. And then a soft smile broke on John’s lips and he leant in and kissed Paul sweetly and gently.  
  
This time they parted their eyes open and Paul lifted his hand, touching the corner of John’s mouth with the back of his fingers.  
  
“Are we goin’ to-” he then started, voice rasped and he cleared his throat a bit before continuing, his voice fading away in the end of the sentence, “-talk... about this-”  
  
John sighed and wrapped his arms tighter around Paul, burying his head into Paul’s hair.  
  
“To be truthful, I’d prefer later,” he mumbled quietly.

Paul's hands on John's waist stilled and it felt like a train had hit him high-speed.

No. No, everything that he had thought. Everything that he had hoped. He felt his spirit crush slowly into millions of pieces that spread through his whole body, aching in every cellule and especially in his heart. He took a deep breath, his arms tightening the embrace.

 _Later_  
  
He had known.  
  
“Yeah,” he choked and then, before he would break down there and then, pulled back and gave a strained smile while straightening his back, trying to gather his usual bright mood and not show his feelings. “Guess I’ll be going then.”  
  
“What? You leaving?” John stared at him stupidly, looking like he had been about to say something else first but Paul’s words had shot a bullet on his unprepared mind.  
  
“Yeah, I guess I need to some peace and silence before George gets home with Ringo and starts the after-party.”  
  
When John just stared dumbly at him and said nothing, Paul sighed and forced the last smile on his face.  
  
“Happy birthday then, see ye ‘round.”  
  
And with that he was gone from the toilet and as soon out of the house, on the street deciding to walk instead of getting a taxi.  
  
He had known it and still he had done it.  
  
For John it was only sex, bi-curious trying. ‘Talk later’ meant that. Fuck first, talk later, the ‘later’ meaning ‘never’ because you were never going to see the person again. It had happened to Paul and it had happened to George (or then it was George running away, laughing and throwing spent condoms at Paul when entering the house). And Paul usually stood through it, usually just brushed it off.  
  
But not with John.  
  
It was better if he stopped dreaming now and woke up into reality.  
  
It was better if he gave up.


	10. George Proves To Be Actually Important

“I don’t understand what I did wrong!” John paced around in his bedroom, Ringo lying on his bed with a bag of crisps in his hand. “I mean, we kissed an’ then… just…”  
  
“At least you’re all out now,” Ringo grinned and stuffed some crisps into his mouth. “Took you a while though.”  
  
“Shut up,” John groaned and covered his eyes with his hands. “Just ‘cos I’m trustin’ you enough doesn’t mean I’m ‘out’, all right??”  
  
“Yeah yeah,” Ringo nodded, looking a bit bored and turned on his side, supporting his head on his arm. “So you were saying?”  
  
“We kissed, an’ then we were hugging and then he asked if we were gonna talk ‘bout what had happened and I…” John paused to search for the right words; his mind was in a dumb state and it was not only the alcohol that he was blaming; kissing Paul had turned his brain into raspberry jelly. “I said that I’d prefer later.”  
  
“Ah, but there you made the mistake,” Ringo snorted and ate more crisps. “Paul thinks you only kissed him ‘cuz you wanted sex.”  
  
“But I didn’t—“  
  
“But he doesn’t _know_ it!” Ringo waved a huge crisp in the air and pointed it at John, who looked at it dumbly. “For him, and probably for you as well, if you _thought_ about it, those words mean that first you fuck and then you leave and that’s the end of that story. _And_ because Paul cares about you, or for whatever reason there might be,” he rolled his eyes and John wanted to throw his computer at his face, because Ringo was becoming as annoying George, “he got hurt by that thought and left. The end.”  
  
John stopped his pacing and stared at Ringo with a frown.  
  
“But I never meant to hurt him. I just… I jus’ didn’t want to ruin the moment by talking. And besides,” he huffed and wrapped his arms around himself, “if I talked ‘bout my feelings that I got for ‘im, he’d probably laugh and call me stupid and leave and never come back.”  
  
Ringo looked at the ceiling thoughtfully, munching the crisps and then he nodded at himself, let out an understanding hum.  
  
“So you were afraid to finally say how you feel.”  
  
John sighed and turned his back at Ringo, stared at his computer that was resting on his table. Yeah, he had been afraid. Of course he was scared that Paul would just laugh at him and say that ‘sorry, but we’re just mates’. That would hurt John too much and he never wanted to feel that much pain.  
  
After Paul had left John had just wandered back into the living room, looking lost and miserable and being very confused of what he had said now. He had informed those who needed the information that Paul had left and George had immediately narrowed his eyes at him and left the room to probably text Paul if he was all right. Ringo had nodded and turned to say to the guy he had been flirting with that he had some important issues to discuss with the birthday boy. So he had dragged John into the bedroom without listening to John’s protesting and had demanded to know what had happened. The look in his eyes had been that dangerous (did he seriously think that John could hurt Paul? Well, apparently John had but not physically??) and John had been that lost that he had made an important decision; it was finally time to share this whole mess with someone.  
  
Ringo had listened without saying anything and had looked somewhat pleased when John admitted to fancying Paul more than he had ever fancied anyone. John had also made him promise that he wouldn’t say _a word_ to a certain person called The Shipper, not that the promise would mean anything when Ringo and George got reunited to plan their upcoming marriage and at the same time think of how to ruin John’s life. Then John had told how he had fucked up the best moment in his life and now they were here. John, going to admit that he was a coward.  
  
“Yeah,” he muttered, not looking up from his computer, “I’m scared that he’ll never look at me again.”  
  
“Knowin’ Paul that’s never gonna happen but, whatever you like to think,” Ringo waved his hand and fished the last crisp from the bag, looking at it miserably before throwing it into his mouth.  
  
“How can I make it better?” John turned his head a bit when he heard munching and waited patiently for Ringo to savour the taste of the last delicious flat potato slice.  
  
“Explain everythin’ to him, I guess.”  
  
“I can _never_ do that.”  
  
“Then,” Ringo groaned while getting up, “you can start by getting me more crisps.” He scratched at his back and yawned. “Christ, what time is it? It always wears me out to play with George.”  
  
“And have few orgasms while you two think no one notices,” John stated sourly and glanced at his watch. “Half past one. God, I hope Paul got home safely.”  
  
“We’d know if something happened to him as he’s probably been in the phone with George the whole time,” Ringo flashed a smile and John stared at him blankly, not finding anything funny in the situation.  
  
“George is gonna kill me,” he then said quietly and Ringo chuckled.  
  
“Most likely. Okay, if your unsuccessful octopus arse is too slow to hear my pleas I’ll get them crisps by myself then.” And with that he jumped on his feet and wandered out of the room, whistling ‘Hakuna Matata’ to himself.  
  
John stared behind him for a while before falling down on his bed with a moan. He had had the chance of a lifetime and he had destroyed it by not thinking.  
  
_’If I ever get a new chance I won’t be fuckin’ pissed,’_ he swore and turned to lie on his stomach, stared at the photograph on the wall that he could see in this position. He reached his hand out and ripped it off, leaving tape marks on the wallpaper.  
  
There were no reasons anymore to have photos of Cynthia on his walls.

***~**~***

The next morning John kicked out the rest of the people that had lurked around his living room, singing Disney songs in a drunken state. Pete Shotton made him promise to visit Liverpool some time soon and then went into his car to sleep off the hangover before he would drive back to his shitty hometown (in John’s thoughts shitty, of course). George and Ringo had left somewhere around four to spend the rest of the night at Ringo’s and so John was left alone in the flat that actually wasn’t in a bad state at all. People had managed to make their way to the loo to vomit and there wasn’t much beer or food on the floor or on the sofa. Because everyone had been in the living room there was no need to clean the other parts of the house and so John got onto the job, put on some Carl Perkins and vacuumed the whole room in ten minutes. In about an hour he had done everything he needed so that the house would look like it had before the party.  
  
And so he was left with hours and hours of packing.  
  
He couldn’t be sure, of course, what Cynthia would do when she got home. But one of the likely alternatives would be kicking John out just like John had got rid of the drunken arses earlier today. So he thought it would be better to be prepared somehow at least. He wasn’t sure if he could keep Creature, and besides the cat would claw his eyes out if he closed her into her travelling bag for the whole day. This in mind he started with other things; he packed his favourite clothes, went through the clothes basket to find if there was anything and looked under the bed for the first time in few years. He made sure that his computer was safe and sound between the clothes in his backpack so that it wouldn’t get damaged if Cynthia decided to throw John out of the window. He searched all his music (that he had surely _not_ downloaded very legally from the internet) and his favourite films and stuffed them into another pack. He made sure he had his toothbrush and his wallet in his pocket in case Cynthia would burn all the things he had with him, so that he would at least have the most needed stuff. He thought about stuffing some underwear into his jeans pocket but decided against it as he could always buy some.  
  
He decided that he was taking Creature with him whatever it took and so he searched her travelling bag, coaxed her inside with her favourite sweets and gave her a bit of water and food in case she got hungry.  
  
And then he was left with waiting. He sat down on the kitchen table and played with his fingers. He roamed through the house three times to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything important. He did some push-ups. He played Temple Run 2 and made a new high score, finally beating the one that Paul had made few weeks ago during the first time John had spend three days at their flat. He wished he could have texted Paul of it as he felt a bit triumphal, but knew that at the moment it probably wasn’t the best thing to do. He lied down in the middle of the living room and counted from one to three hundred and then back to one. He checked that he had everything for the fourth time.  
  
Just when he was about to start doing push-ups for the second time, the lock made a clicking sound when the flat was being entered. He sat up and crawled over the living room floor to sit on the sofa so that he would look at least a bit decent in the eyes of his soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend.  
  
Cynthia came to stand in the doorway and stared at John, looking tired, pale and like she had been crying the whole night. John didn’t even need to fake an apologising expression when he stared at her carefully, his Buddy Holly glasses resting on his nose (he had also practised taking them off with fast and complicated ninja moves so that an angry young woman wouldn’t have a chance to break them).  
  
Few minutes passed in silence, John waiting for Cynthia to speak up. He didn’t want to say anything as she would just probably start screaming the moment he got the first syllable out of his mouth.  
  
Just when he was about to get _really_ uncomfortable under the stare that was too much like Mimi’s, Cynthia said two words that got all the tension leave John’s shoulders. And he knew that she noticed that.  
  
“Get out.”  
  
He could have said something. He could have said ‘I’m sorry, but I can explain,’ or ‘it’s not what you think it is,’ but he decided not to. It would be easier for them both if he just obeyed, for once in his life.  
  
So he stood up and walked to the side of the room, taking the two packs and Creature that had been there waiting. He wasn’t sure if Cynthia had noticed them before but now she certainly was looking. He made sure everything was firmly on him in case he still had to run to avoid getting burnt down by Cynthia’s eyes or something and then he turned, looked at Cynthia and walked past her.  
  
He paused at the door and turned to look at her once more, seeing tears in her eyes. He wanted to apologise. He wanted to hug and kiss her and tell her that he genuinely was sorry for making it hard for her, for hurting her. He wanted to make sure that she would be happy, even if John was a dickhead and a total moron.  
  
“I’ll send Ringo to get the rest of my stuff later,” he said instead and walked out, making sure that he closed the door properly. He rested his back against it and sighed very deeply.  
  
Okay. Now, he had only one thing to worry about.  
  
Where to sleep?

***~**~***

“ _Hello?_ ”  
  
“George, hi, it’s John.”  
  
“ _Oh. You. You almost bloody sank my ship._ ” George’s sour voice made John shiver and he took a deep breath.  
  
“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. But I need to ask you somethin’, I don’t know who else could help this time of the evening and with such a short notice.”  
  
“ _Spit it out, son._ ”  
  
John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was sitting on a park bench and it was already getting late. He had tried to ask other people if they had a spare corner for him; he would be ready to even sleep on a cactus if he only had a roof over him. London really wasn’t the best place to spend the night out with a cat and all his important stuff. But no one could offer him a sleeping spot. Somehow it was impossible for any of his friends to help him after he had just gotten kicked out of his now ex-girlfriend’s flat.  
  
So he had rung George as his last try before booking a cheap hotel room.  
  
“Technically it should be me to call you that, son, but I’ll let it go this time,” he mumbled into the phone and heard George let out an emotionless ‘Ha. Ha. Fucking. Ha.’  
  
“I and Creature need to get a place to sleep... I was thinkin’ if I could take advantage on your sofa?” he yawned to give some support to his words and scratched at the back of his left ear.  
  
“ _The sofa doesn’t really like people who sink ships,_ ” was George’s sour answer and then right after that before John could really figure out what to say next: “ _Why would ye need it anyroad?_ ”  
  
“Uh,” John squeezed his eyes tightly shut and then blinked few times to keep his gaze straight.  
  
“I... Well, Cynthia kicked me out.”  
  
“ _She did???_ ” he heard George say a bit too cheerily and wondered if he should just go straight to the hotel option. “ _What happened???_ ”  
  
“She told me to get out and I did. I had already packed up so there wasn’t any fuss,” he yawned again and Creature let out a meow, reminding that John wasn’t the only one who wanted to go to sleep. Although she was much more comfortable in her travelling bag than John was sitting on this God-forsaken bench.  
  
“ _That’s..._ ” George started and John was sure he was going to say fantastic but then there was another voice that was apparently talking to George.  
  
“ _Who is it?_ ”  
  
“ _It’s John,_ ” John heard his youngest friend hiss at his biggest crush in his life, “ _Cynthia’s broken up with... -she broke up with you yeah?_ ” his voice came loud in John’s ear again and John held the phone in a tiny distance to save his hearing.  
  
“Yeah,” he answered, “And even if she didn’t, I ain’t goin’ back. For me it’s a break-up and that’s it.”  
  
“ _Yeah, they broke up. Guess Cynthia threw him out. And now he’s got nowhere to go._ ”  
  
“ _Doesn’t really have any effect on me, that,_ ” Paul answered George and John bit his lip. Before Paul would have been happy to help him. But of course not now when John had ruined everything. He was truly terrified to discover this cold side of Paul.  
  
“ _Well, if he’s sleepin’ in my bed it won’t affect ye in anyways so,_ ” George spoke and John had to look at his phone to make sure that he had heard it right. Suddenly he was welcomed by George and even into his bed??? (Well, George would welcome him into his bed even if John had murdered Ringo.)  
  
“ _Whatever you like, jus’ keep him out of my sight,_ ” there was Paul’s voice once more and then all John heard was George sighing deeply.  
  
“ _Well, hope it won’t take ye three hours to get yer arse here. My bed needs warmin’,_ ” he was then talking to John and John shared a confused look with Creature.  
  
“Why am I suddenly welcomed?” he asked while standing up and looking around him. It would maybe take half an hour to walk but it was all right. He would have some time to compose his thoughts before meeting Paul (and George’s bed, of course).  
  
“ _Appears ye two still got hope,_ ” was George’s answer and then he was gone with ‘bring me some flowers will you’ without giving John a chance to use some of his best insults on him. It appeared that they still had hope, yeah for sure. More like, it appeared that George wasn’t even trying anymore to be subtle about shipping them (although John was sure that he hadn’t told Paul. Even George wouldn’t be that stupid).  
  
So he started making his way towards his friends’ flat, not forgetting to buy the flowers on his way there. And when the guy behind the desk asked if he had problems with a partner, he answered ‘yes’ without really thinking and realised only after that it had been Paul’s face in his mind when he had thought about a partner.  
  
With the flowers in his armpit and his pack of clothes and Creature in the other he hurried towards the one person that could make his life happy.

***~**~***

“Come’n Paul, cheer up! He’s free now!” George sounded like he was pleading when in reality he really wasn’t. Paul sighed and pushed his friend out of his way.  
  
“Like it meant anythin’. He doesn’t care about me!”  
  
“You can’t be that ridiculous. Whatever the reason behind his words was, it certainly wasn’t just to have a shag! I _know_ him!!” George crossed his arms on his chest while shouting at Paul’s back. It was pointless. Paul wouldn’t listen.  
  
He slammed the door of his room against George’s face and threw himself on his bed dramatically, imagining himself to be Belle in the castle of the Beast. He didn’t start sobbing though, even if it was close. John was finally free, Paul finally had some chances and he had finally kissed John, but it was all in vain. If John felt nothing towards him what was the point in trying? It was better to just keep out of the way while John and George had a fuck that Paul wouldn’t give to him.  
  
He bit the nail of his thumb. Maybe he should? Then at least he’d have a memory, some kind of an idea of how it would feel to have John moving on top of him, to have his hands on his sides and his lips on his neck. He’d have a memory of (did he even dare to think about it) his hands on John’s dick and his mouth on his nipples.  
  
And then he would have a memory of waking up in the morning and finding John gone. Because that was what was going to happen. He was going to flee as soon as Paul had fallen asleep and move out of the city or leave the country or whatever, jump in front of a car just to make sure that Paul would never see him again.  
  
He curled up into a ball and then in one angry spur of a moment, when all his rage and every feeling he had for John rushed up to the surface, he turned on his back and shouted to the ceiling.  
  
“FUCKIN’ APOLOGISE, EVEN!!”  
  
He could swear he heard George laughing in the living room. He stuffed his pillow under his head and covered his ears with it.  
  
Was it possible to break up with someone you weren’t even with?

***~**~***

Twenty minutes after Paul had retreated into his room as quietly as only an elephant could there was a silent knock on the door. George grinned widely, texted Ringo “the OTP will be reunited within no time” and bounced up to let John in.  
  
It took few minutes for them to fuss about, John letting the cat free after making sure there wouldn’t be anything too poisonous on her reach, George preparing some tea for them. They took over George’s bed with tea mugs and computers and then, when both had changed into their pyjamas, fell into a silent conversation.  
  
“I know you’ve been doin’ things behind our backs this whole time,” John mumbled and brought the mug to his lips while checking his Facebook, carefully avoiding Paul’s icon in the chat that had a green dot next to it, showing him being online. “Don’t know if I should thank you or not.”  
  
“Don’t thank me yet, but tomorrow when I’ve finally got ye two together,” George gave a huge optimistic grin and John rolled his eyes.  
  
“Yeah, as if you could actually succeed. Paul hates me,” he sighed and lowered his head miserably. George chuckled and shook his head.  
  
“Nah mate, he doesn’t. He’s jus’ afraid that ye don’t actually care ‘bout ‘im.”  
  
“Of course I care about him,” the older man started but George silenced him by putting a finger on John’s lips. The other stared down at it and frowned.  
  
“Yeah, and everyone except Paul can see it very well. Ye don’t need to tell it to _me_ ,” George laughed and then patted at John’s shoulder while starting to type with his left hand faster than should have been possible. “Trust me. Ev’rythin’ will be fine.”  
  
“So you say,” John yawned and shut down the computer. George raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.  
  
“Gonna sleep already?” he asked with a grin and John had an alerted expression on his face.  
  
“We’re not havin’ sex, sorry. That was one time. It doesn’t mean that you’re gonna get anythin’ now even if I’m in your bed,” he said in a rush and George started laughing, bent over and took a hold of his stomach, soon starting to cough when laughing got too hard.  
  
“I wasn’t gonna ask for a fuck!” he wiped tears from his eyes, “God... Only for a blowjo—“  
  
The rest was being muffled by the pillow that John harshly smashed against his face. George let out a hysteric giggle before throwing another pillow on John and then, after the computers were safely on the floor, they attacked each other with poor bed supplements.  
  
Paul covered his ears from the laugh that he could hear echoing through the flat and let out a tiny sob. How he wished he could be with them at the moment. They could have a triple-sleepover, everyone in George’s grand bed designed for fuckfests and Paul could cuddle up next to John and John could hold him tighter than anyone ever had held him and George could complain that he needed Ringo and then ask who wanted a free blowjob.  
  
When the dark-haired man was forced to fall into the sleep just from pure exhaustion, he had some tears in the corners of his eyes. But a part of him couldn’t help but feel wonderfully hopeful that with tomorrow a new future would arrive.  
  
Damn all that Uni work. He had already failed all his subjects anyway.

***~**~***

When Paul woke up, first he remembered that he had kissed John the day before. Twice.  
  
For three minutes he sat in a complete bliss, staring at his ceiling and probably making these weird sighing noises, his mouth slightly open. John was such a good kisser. Looking at his lips that were thin and slightly curving towards his beautiful cheeks made Paul feel like he was sitting on a cloud filled with My Little Ponies and rainbows. Actually _kissing_ him made him feel like the cloud disappeared and he fell through chocolate and tea bags that were coloured all pink while Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On was playing loudly around him.  
  
He was rudely woken up from his happy pink gay bubble when there was a crash from the kitchen and a voice that made his heart almost jump out from his mouth.  
  
_”Well now you fuckin’ broke it!”_  
  
He hadn’t remembered that John had come to spend the night at their flat. And when he remembered that, everything else came up to his mind.  
  
His bliss was broken by rage, jealousness and frustration. He had to do everything that was in his will to stop his body from getting up and grabbing his ex-love to smash her down on that bastard’s head. Fortunately he managed to stop himself as that would have caused a need for a new repair and unfortunately the only who could do that would probably be in a hospital (and Paul in prison, perhaps).  
  
He stood up slowly and changed into a new t-shirt, as he had fallen asleep with his clothes on and his t-shirt had started to already stink a bit. No wonder after all that stress and sweating and _kissing_ (though he wasn’t quite sure what it had to do with the smell that filled his nose when he sniffed at the shirt, but surely it did something. It had to).  
  
He entered the kitchen one sentence in his mind that he hadn’t quite understood last night.  
  
John was free.  
  
“The princess is awake!” George cheered way too loudly (had he already drunk something??) and banged the spatula on the frying pan. Paul covered his ears and grimaced, turning to look at the other man in the room, who was sitting on the kitchen table, one of the legs lifted on the other. John had stuffed his black t-shirt that nicely showed off the muscles in his arms into his white jeans and on his forehead he had his black heavy framed (like those of Paul’s hero’s, Buddy Holly’s) glasses, making him look too cool. Not to mention black socks. _God_ , Paul was _aching_.  
  
He mentally shook himself and let his expression turn into a hateful one. This wasn’t a time to fancy after John and his appearance. Paul had to get over him. And the best way to do that was to ignore him.  
  
So he carefully avoided John’s eyes during the whole breakfast. He couldn’t help but think of the one time they had played puppets with their forks and knives. That had been before all this, this, _sexual tension_ or whatever it was. Maybe it was just that that John wanted to try how it was to shag Paul and then would be moving on to search for his next prey. After all, Paul didn’t know much about him. (Well, he did but just didn’t want to admit it.) He didn’t know _all_ of the hobbies he had had in his life, didn’t know what was his favourite French singer and he didn’t know if he had ever been seriously ill (wait, he did know; 2005 he had had a stomach flu).  
  
Okay, he knew something but not everything. It was impossible for them to be mutually attracted to each other. He felt like he was just repeating the same old words in different shapes.  
  
He stabbed his bacon with a fork and kicked George under the table.

***~**~***

“Paul, ye need to even try to talk with ‘im.”  
  
“I don’t wanna. He’s not my friend, I don’t think I ever was his. He only wants to get a fuck from me!” Paul yelled at George who was sitting on his bed, looking patient and a bit bored. Paul hated that expression on his face.  
  
“Yeah, whatever you say, but I _know_ it’s not that! Ye should give ‘im a chance to explain his words! Ye don’t know why he said that! And besides, if he only wanted a fuck, why’d he go through all that ‘getting to know ye’ thing??? He could jus’ come to me an’ say let’s fuck an’ that’d be it!”  
  
Paul picked up few t-shirts from the floor and then threw them at George with an angry spur of a moment, ignoring what he was saying. He wanted to cry and he wanted to hurt someone badly, preferably John. But he knew that if he ever laid a finger on John, if he did as much as _touched_ him, he would lose his mind and give himself to the man without a second thought. That’s how bad he wanted him.  
  
“I’m going mad,” he whispered and took a hold of his head, shook it few times violently. “I’m going fuckin’ mad.”  
  
“You’re not,” George spoke now with a calming tone and Paul threw a pair of jeans at him, let out a tiny shout of rage.  
  
“You don’t _KNOW_!!! You ALWAYS get what YOU want!!” he was almost screaming now but didn’t care. He knew that John was out on the terrace and thus couldn’t hear him. George’s eyes widened a bit and he formed a tiny ‘what’ with his mouth.  
  
“Yeah!!! You get ANYONE you want! You got Ringo!!! And don’t try to tell me that bullshit about you two not being really together ‘cos EVERYONE fuckin’ knows that it’s not true!!! You have NO idea how it feels, how I just CAN’T have HIM!!!” he shouted and George stared at him, his mouth a bit open. And then he tilted his head and sighed, his eyes meeting the ground.  
  
“I can’t have everythin’ I want, an’ ye know it.”  
  
“Fuckin’ bitch please!” Paul huffed. “You got _everyth_ \--“  
  
“Yeah, I got everythin’, okay? I got money, was lucky enough to get a nice job from a record shop. What ‘bout it, not important!” George stood up suddenly and lifted his thumb up, his eyes sparkling with an emotion that could have been anger, but then again you never knew with him. Could have been lust. Paul took a step back and almost tripped over on his jogging pants.  
  
“I got a fast computer and a flat in the centre of London that’s not too dear. I got a lovin’ family, got my mum and dad and I can _always_ trust that if things go downhill, I can hop on a train an’ they’ll be waitin’ for me with warm socks an’ tea! I got friends, I got a _best friend_ ,” he pointed at Paul with four fingers standing up now and now the emotion was definitely anger, maybe frustration. “I got Ringo who’s loyal, who loves me an’ who never gets tired on fuckin’, I’m not sexually frustrated like some _others_ ,” he looked at Paul very meaningfully and Paul swallowed with some difficulties. “ _And_ if I wanted, if _we_ wanted, we would make our relationship stable but we don’t want that, an’ it _doesn’t_ bother me that he goes fuckin’ everything that fuckin’ moves! Hell, I might join in for all I care!” he took a deep breath and lowered his hand, shaking a bit.  
  
“But I don’t have everythin’ I’ve wanted,” he paused for a moment. “I’ve had a taste of what it’d be like but for him _that_ was just some bi-curious stuff. An’ we were both really young so it didn’t even really count as real fuckin’. But John... he won’t have me, not really, not after that time. And I won’t have him, just as I won’t have you ‘cos both of you are my friends, but I can’t _have_ you two!”  
  
Paul stared at George, not really knowing what to say. He knew that George had always fancied him because the lad wasn’t actually the quietest person to walk on this planet, at least not the one with personal secrets. He didn’t know if he should feel hurt of the fact that George had just basically told that he and John had fucked. But then again, he had also said that they had been really young. But they had fucked anyway. But then again, with George it wasn’t a surprise and if John had _actually_ felt bi-curious of course it had been George to help him to sort out his thoughts. For Paul it would be George as well, if he ever felt like it.  
  
George’s breath was quick and he crossed his arms over his chest, seemingly not yet finished with his speech. Paul breached him for something truly shocking when George spoke with a quiet, tired tone.  
  
“And now _you_ could have him. ‘Cos he’s yours, y’know. But ‘cos you’re so fuckin’ _afraid_ you won’t take him. But fuckin’ believe me in this one, Paul, not because I’m a whore and a slut as you so kindly said before, and which is true, but ‘cos we’re _best friends_. Believe me in this, please.” He paused and looked at Paul before saying one sentence more.  
  
“He’s already yours.”  
  
And with that he left and Paul was left to collect his thoughts that were once again thrown into a confused mess of what was he feeling and what should he do now.

***~**~***

John stood on the terrace leaning on the railing, Creature resting on it, softly purring when John’s fingers stroked her fur. He inhaled deeply from the fag he had against his lips, knowing well that it would destroy his lungs and then kill him in forty years. It was a bad habit from his teenager years and he did try to stop; Ringo had made him promise that his arse would be totally smoke-free before 2014 Christmas. So far he had succeeded well, but then he had given in when he had been visiting this house for the first time; that time when George had shown that he was still the same whore, even after all those years.  
  
The atmosphere inside had been truly terrifying. John had never felt so tense in his life and he knew that for Paul it wasn’t any easier. George had done his best, points for him, to get them to talk with each other but Paul had showed truly the best bitch face John had ever witnessed and then had said with a cold voice ‘George, you are a slut’ before going into his room, slamming the door shut. George had looked a bit shocked for a moment (John’s appreciation for Paul had flown way past Pluto) and then the lad had just started laughing and when he hadn’t stopped in ten minutes, John had retreated out to have a smoke and to let Creature have some air.  
  
He heard the door opening and was about to tell George that he really was a bitch, when a voice spoke and he was about to push the cat down the railing when he jumped with surprise.  
  
“Got a ciggie?”  
  
“Uh,” he answered stupidly and turned his head to meet Paul’s tired, black and a bit cloudy eyes (he looked so sexy that John felt a boner threatening the insides of his briefs within a second). For a minute he just stared and then nodded, reached for his pocket to fish out the fags. He offered one to Paul who took it and then John held out his own to light it up.  
  
They smoked in silence, listening to the sound of the streets of London six floors under their feet. John felt his hand shake against the fur of Creature and he squeezed his fingers into a fist, his eyes flicking to the side to try and catch a glimpse of Paul’s face.

The younger man was staring at him with those same blank eyes, the smoke circling in front of his face. He inhaled deeply of the fag and then without any warning blew the smoke straight at John’s face.  
  
“Oh fuck!” John swore and turned his head away, coughing and his eyes burning. He pressed his free hand against them, the fag in the other and he heard Creature protesting of the sudden loss of a nice hand that existed just to worship her.  
  
“There you go,” Paul spoke and John turned his head to him, peeking at him behind his hand with watery eyes. “That’s how it felt when the computer shat on me.”  
  
“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” John answered and wiped his eyes vigorously. “An’ I guess that I deserved this as well, for bein’ an idiot.”  
  
“You’re a fuckin’ arsehole,” Paul answered and John winced. It felt like the other’s voice cut into his chest like a spear and went through his heart, making him feel cold with _guilt_.  
  
“I’m sorr—“  
  
“Do you even know why you’re apologising?” Paul interrupted quietly and John was about to open his mouth to say yes, but Paul didn’t give him any chances.  
  
“We fuckin’ _kissed_ ,” he started with an insisting voice and John flinched again. “We fuckin’ _kissed_ and then you made it look like it was _nothing_! Like you were jus’ _bi-curious_!”  
  
“But it wasn’t jus’ nothin’,” John started and damn his pride, damn his thoughts and damn everything, he was free and Paul was here and even if Paul hated him, John had to try. Even if Paul felt nothing towards him, or might have felt but John didn’t want to be too hopeful, he would try. He couldn’t give up someone like _Paul_. He suddenly felt like the emperor from Mulan was pushing him into his back and hissing ‘you don’t meet a guy like that every dynasty’.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he breathed and dumped his fag so that it wouldn’t be bothering him. He saw Paul’s eyes follow his movements and then they snapped up on his face again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that, but it really wasn’t the clearest moment for me. Alcohol, and the party, and dear God, the kiss...” he stopped and searched for words. Paul looked like he was torn between running away and listening. John really hoped he would choose the latter.  
  
“It was amazing, y’know? I had dreamt of it, I almost did it there in the kitchen?” he pointed over to where the kitchen was situated. Paul’s eyes flicked over there and then returned on John’s face; it looked like he was having difficulties in breathing.  
  
“But you didn’t,” he then said quietly and John shook his head.  
  
“I was scared an’ I didn’t know what I was doing,” he whispered and Paul frowned slowly, his black eyes piercing John.  
  
“And at the party—”  
  
“I jus’ wanted to save the moment, y’know. Not destroy it with talkin’, which I did in the end. Shouldn’t have said anything,” he muttered hastily and wrapped his arms around himself, once again cursing himself for his stupidity. “And then I spoke with Ringo, an’ George, and...” he stopped and bit his lip. “It should’ve been you that I talked with.”  
  
“You’re talking now,” Paul said and his tone had changed; it was now gentler, smooth, but still holding back something that was a bit like anger, but not quite. “So you do know what you did?”  
  
“I made it look like I was just lookin’ for a fuck, when in reality it’s nowhere near the truth,” John answered and met Paul’s eyes. They held the stare for the longest of times before John spoke again, not letting his gaze leave Paul’s one.  
  
“Actually, the idea of havin’ anal sex is kinda terrifyin’, y’know... I did it once with George and it really isn’t for me, I guess.”  
  
“He said that you were so young that it didn’t really count as a real fuck,” Paul said and he looked sour and jealous and for the first time, John actually noted it. He frowned and moved a bit closer without really realising that he was doing it. Could it be that George had been right? That all this time, everything that had happened... All those times when Paul had blushed, all those times when their gazes had lingered a bit too long on each other, all those times Paul had had the same expression as he did now when John had mentioned Cynthia... Could it be... Could it be that their feelings were actually mutual? That it wasn’t just John’s hopeful imagination that was creating these things?  
  
If it was so, John wanted to jump off a roof (Sherlock style (oh his heart)) because that would prove him and Paul to be the most stupid people in the whole world.  
  
“No, it didn’t. And even if it did, it was just a shag.”  
  
“Just a shag,” Paul repeated and his breathing came out shallow when he stepped a bit closer too, like he couldn’t stop himself. His eyes flicked over John’s lips and John became aware of the boner again. The memory of the party, how Paul had pressed him against the wall and kissed him came hurrying back to his mind and he swallowed, his throat feeling like it was made of sand.  
  
“There wasn’t really any emotion with George,” he said slowly and took one step more. Paul tilted his head and shivered all over so violently that it was easy for John to see it. And then, after a hesitating moment where John stared intently at Paul and Paul looked at Creature who was cleaning her paws, the younger man took a deep breath and with fear visible in his eyes, said his next words so quietly that John had to lean in even more to hear:  
  
“Would there be emotion if we did it?”  
  
John stared at Paul speechless, his mouth slightly opened. Paul met his eyes and bit his lower lip, blush creeping up to his neck and cheeks.  
  
And then John let out a breathy laugh and turned, pressed his hands against his forehead and laughed even more. They were stupid. They were such _idiots_. No _wonder_ that George and Ringo had acted like that from the beginning. John had been _blind_ , even when he had his glasses on. He wanted to punch himself, and maybe Paul in the progress as well. Fucking _idiots_.  
  
“John, what—“ Paul started carefully and John swore out loud while laughing. He was probably making himself look like he was mad or something, but then again maybe he actually was a bit mad. He was an idiot. On a scale from Albert Einstein to rocks he went way past the latter ones. And he was happy to say that yeah, Paul was there with him as well.  
  
“God, we’re stupid,” he breathed and turned, his eyes met Paul’s and he laughed again, feeling the tension leaving his shoulders and then without hesitation, he stepped forward and after pulling Paul into his arms, kissed him.  
  
The feeling when Paul wrapped his arms around him without a second thought was enough for him to know that this was it;  
  
From here the future opened wide open.


	11. George.

  
  
That was the text that Ringo received that day. He giggled at his phone and kissed it lightly.  
  
“About some fuckin’ time,” he hummed and texted back:  
  


***~**~***

  
John and Paul sat on the living room sofa, staring quietly into emptiness. They hadn’t said a word in thirty minutes. Actually, they hadn’t said anything since the kiss out on the terrace; they had come in and sat down on the sofa. George had kept himself occupied by his computer in his room, probably understanding that this was one of those moments when he really should stay away. At one point Creature jumped on John’s lap and John looked down at her, brought his hand up to stroke her fur. He felt Paul’s eyes on the cat and then the younger man cleared his throat.  
  
“I’ve been thinking of buying her something.”  
  
“Yeah?” John asked and lifted his gaze, meeting Paul’s eyes. They stared at each other for the longest of times, John feeling himself blushing a bit and Paul looking quite reddish in his cheeks as well.  
  
“Yeah,” Paul then answered and smiled shakily without letting John’s eyes go. “We were looking for your present and went into an animal shop. But then I thought it’d be inappropriate to buy your cat stuff on your birthday...” his voice faded away. Funny how it felt like it had been years since the animal shop. The last few days had passed really fast.  
  
The intense stare still went on. Somehow they were unable to let the other go, as if they would vanish the moment their eyes parted.  
  
“I wouldn’t have cared,” John mumbled and then paused. “I haven’t even opened your present, sorry about—”  
  
“George bought it from a sex shop, it’s not important,” Paul interrupted shrugging and John chuckled.  
  
“Good, ‘cos I left it at Cyn’s.”  
  
Paul sighed and his gaze fell down, something like misery taking upon him.  
  
“Was she really sad? I mean, of course she was, but was it...”  
  
“Nothing she couldn’t handle,” John sighed and shook his head faintly. “At least I hope so. She did start crying when I left.”  
  
“Do you regret it?” Paul asked softly and lifted his eyes once again to meet John’s. John bit his lip hesitantly and his fingers curled up into Creature’s fur.  
  
“I can’t say that I do. There’s this one part of me that’s screaming all the time that I should go back to her and all that... How I betrayed her trust et cetera. But I guess... how things turn out between... uh, you and me. It depends on that, if I regret it or not.”  
  
Paul’s eyes examined him sympathetically and then his hand moved on top of John’s. John lowered his head and finished his sentence quietly.  
  
“But I do feel guilt.”  
  
“I know you do,” Paul answered and breathed out deeply. “But in this situation it doesn’t really help you. You could bathe in your guilt and never get out again or then just leave it be, accept what you’ve done and accept that it’s part of life, that these things happen. Or something,” he now looked confused and John started laughing quietly.  
  
“I do see why you’re a writer, Macca.”  
  
Paul felt his face light up into a smile and he tilted his head with a shining grin.  
  
“Macca?”  
  
“Better than 'pula mcartney', right?” John giggled and decided that this was the point where he pushed Creature away. She let out a huge protesting sound, but John knew that she’d forgive him; maybe.  
  
He and Paul stared at each other again but this time the silence that fell upon them wasn’t overpowering as it had been few moments ago. This time it was curious, impatient; what would happen from now on? They had successfully avoided the topic but they needed to talk about it. Otherwise someone would, eventually, get hurt and that time the term would be _truly hurt_.  
  
“Uh,” Paul started and looked like a fish on the sand. John chuckled quietly but then got serious.  
  
“Paul, listen, I...” he took a deep breath and clasped his hands around Paul’s, staring down at them. “I... I like you very much, okay? I’ve liked you from the moment we met and like... I don’t know, if you... I mean if you don’t...”  
  
“Oh,” Paul let out a relieved sigh, “All I’ve been thinking past these four or five weeks is if you like me too,” he smiled softly, “so don’t worry. I’m with you there, mate.”  
  
“In the gay land?” John asked trying not to sound as happy as he really was. Paul laughed out loud and nodded.  
  
“In the gay land.”

  
  
***~**~***

  
  
The arrangements were made pretty quickly, during the same evening. John would move in with Paul and George, not because Paul and John thought they wouldn’t be able to live without each other but because it was kind of necessary; John did need a place to sleep. He had first suggested that he could use the sofa until he had found another place but George had refused. He had said that John would have to choose between Paul’s and his bed and that the lad had no other alternatives. Paul and John had glanced at each other and started carrying John’s stuff into Paul’s room without so much of a word.  
  
They couldn’t be sure whether they’d be happy or not in a relationship that was based on George’s plotting (not that Paul would have been aware it had actually been that and John wasn’t so stupid that he’d tell). Because they hadn’t been able to take things on a further level on their own, with their own pace, they knew that they were going to be awkward. Not with the talking part; they knew they would be happy to live as flatmates even without a relationship as their thoughts fitted together so well.  
  
The problem was the physical part and how to talk about it.  
  
It was the same night when they were in Paul’s (and now John’s as well) room. Paul had been in the bathroom and had changed his clothes there and John had changed his clothes while Paul had been gone; he wasn’t sure if he could yet strip in front of Paul like it was nothing and the same went for Paul.  
  
Now they were both sitting on the edge of the bed, staring once again into emptiness. How would they do this? Which side of the bed would they sleep on? Would they hold each other while sleeping? Would they only hold hands? Would they sleep totally separated from each other? Would they change some kisses, what would they do if the kisses woke up the sexual desire that was at the moment buried deep within to avoid uncomfortable situations? Would they talk with each other before going to sleep or just lie down without saying a word and just see what morning would bring? Would they lie awake for hours, knowing the other wasn’t sleeping either but unable to say anything? Did they really like each other enough to actually sleep together? Did they really like each other enough? How do you do things with a _gUY_???????????  
  
Paul squeezed his hands into fists and swore under breath. He saw from the corner of his eye how John’s lips turned up towards his ears and then they started giggling.  
  
“We’re such idiots,” John laughed and lied down on his back, bringing his hands on his eyes. “We’re such _idiots_!”  
  
“You’ve said that before,” Paul smiled and lied down too, next to John. He turned on his side and supported his weight on his elbow, looking down at John. He was so plainly beautiful in his white nightshirt, hair a bit messy. This was John at his purest; he wasn’t trying to do anything, wasn’t trying to show off or make an impression. He was just John; unsure of what was going to happen, still a bit hesitant about how he should be in another man’s bed. This was John without leather and cool sunglasses.  
  
This was the John that Paul, he decided, liked the most.  
  
John had probably noticed him staring as he started staring too. They held each other’s gazes for the longest of times again before Paul smiled lightly and lifted his hand, brushed some hair off of John’s forehead.  
  
“Let’s get some sleep,” he said quietly and John smiled, if not trembling a bit. Together they crawled under the sheets and turned to face each other, once again falling into staring, not knowing what to do now.  
  
Finally Paul decided for both of them. He reached out, placed his hand on John’s biceps and tugged a bit. John let out a shaky sigh and then he moved closer and they snuggled up to each other, feeling and learning how to be with the other. Finally John’s head was safely nested against Paul’s chest, his other hand around Paul’s waist and the other one crunched up between his and Paul’s bodies. Paul’s hands were around John and he held his head in John’s hair.  
  
They both breathed deep in like they were synchronised, the smell of the other filling their noses for the first time like this.  
  
And there they rested.  
  
They didn’t need to wait long for the sleep to come.

  
***~**~***

  
“What are we gonna do with the sex part?” Paul spoke quietly and John jumped, freezing right after that. They were in the kitchen and it had been two days of them being ‘together’; if they could call their relationship ‘being together’. It was more like, sleep in the same bed, talk awkwardly avoiding real topics, without touching each other if it wasn’t very necessary. Who would’ve guessed that it was going to be so hard?  
  
But then again, who could really blame then? Two straight guys who had never even thought about being with another man (well, John had had his experiences but they didn’t really count, as had been said before). They had desired this and they had got what they wanted, but now they faced a wall. Because they were just. So. Awkward.  
  
Somehow the fire they had had between them, the unbearable sexual desire had died down when they knew they were actually allowed to have each other. In the loo, in the party it had been full of those flames because it had been the first time; they hadn’t been sure if they would ever get any more of it; they had been drunk, they had been holding back for so long. But now when the frantic chaos in their heads had calmed down, what there was left was the desire, but topped by uncertainness and the fear of the unknown.  
  
So it wasn’t a wonder why John totally froze, his shoulders jumping up and down funnily. Of course he had thought about it almost endlessly; and of course Paul had thought about it too. It was okay to think about it. But it was a totally different task to actually open one’s mouth.  
  
“I don’t know,” John finally answered truthfully and turned to look at Paul, who was sitting at the kitchen table, squeezing his tea mug with two hands with much more force than was really needed. They stared at each other for something that felt like forever before Paul opened his mouth again.  
  
“I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life wondering whether to go further or not. I don’t wanna... I don’t want to ruin our relationship by... holding back, y’know. Or by doing somethin’ that I don’t want to do.”  
  
John looked at him for a while before sighing and then he sat carefully on top of the table, minding the mugs that still needed to be washed after the five-o’clock tea.  
  
“I don’t know,” he said again and Paul nodded, lowering his head and looking very unsure and uncomfortable.  
  
“But I... you know, Paul, that I had my little... uh, experience with Geo,” the auburn-haired man started and Paul nodded, his expression now looking sour.  
  
“Oh, I do know _that_.”  
  
“Yeah,” John laughed, feeling sweat break through his forehead. “Well, I can surely say that anal sex is not for me. Didn’t feel good at all.”  
  
“You... you... took it in?” Paul lifted his head and in his eyes there was something like disgust. John shuddered and shook his head.  
  
“God, no! I could never...”  
  
“Me neither,” Paul said quickly and he and John fell into silence, staring at each other again. (Paul trying to ignore the fact that then it had been George to _take it_ ; with John. But was it really important at this point anymore? Nope.)  
  
And then they let out a huge sigh at once, all the tension leaving their bodies.  
  
“I’ve been really scared that you’d want it and I wouldn’t know what to do,” John breathed deeply and Paul laughed a bit breathlessly.  
  
“Yeah, same here.”  
  
Then they were silent again before John huffed loudly and shook his whole upper body like before doing a very hard exercise for muscles.  
  
“So let’s get over with it!” he jumped on his feet and met Paul’s wide confused eyes. “How far are we ready to go?”  
  
“You’re asking me??” Paul’s eyes widened, and then he bit his lip, wondering. “I’m not sure. Maybe the best would be if we just kinda... start and then, uh... just... go as far as we both want, without forcing ourselves... or each other to do somethin’ we really don’t want to. Like in the loo, back in the party, uh...”  
  
“I can really, really see why you’re a writer,” John grinned and winked and Paul rolled his eyes.  
  
“Shut up. I’m not good with words at all.”  
  
“Yes you aaare,” John said with a sing-a-song voice and dropped on his knees in front of Paul, resting his arms on top of Paul’s thighs, placing his head on top of his arms and looking up at his new life with dreamy eyes. “You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he sighed happily and Paul’s face up lit up with a smile.  
  
“You’re not so bad yourself,” he mumbled and ran his hands through John’s hair, causing the young man (Twenty-four!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) to make a pretty good impression of Creature in the throes of ultimate pleasure. For awhile they rested there in that position before John lifted his head a bit and there was a glint of something in his eyes that was about to make Paul’s stomach turn over.  
  
“Now that we’re done with the sex talk, how long do ye think George will be gone?”  
  
“You think we’re done with it? I feel like we’re still gonna talk about it some time,” Paul giggled and John shrugged as much as he could with his elbows resting on Paul’s knees.  
  
“Jus’ answer the fuckin’ question, Paul,” he huffed and Paul laughed joyfully.  
  
“I don’t know, but I guess two or three hours???”  
  
“Hm,” John wondered. “Maybe we’ll just get it done, then.”  
  
“Get done what?” Paul looked confused and John glanced up at him, eyes shining.  
  
“Just let it all out, yeah?”  
  
“Let out _what_?????” Paul demanded and John laughed, brought his hand up to cup Paul’s cheek gently; then without saying anything at all, he stood up and sneaked his hand in the back of Paul’s head. Paul’s eyes widened when the realisation of what was happening occurred to him and he let out a tiny ‘oh’. John smiled and then leant forward while bringing Paul’s head towards him carefully, giving Paul space to pull back if he wanted.  
  
But Paul followed the movement of his hand, bringing his own ones up. He touched John’s chin with his fingertips before cupping his face and then, slow as ever, his neck stretched out and John’s back curved as their lips met in the middle.  
  
It was, of course, awkward. They had shared three kisses before; the bottle kiss, the loo kiss and the terrace kiss. The thought that now it was the time for a kitchen kiss made John smile lightly while Paul giggled nervously into his mouth, stumbling on his feet without letting John’s lips go. He placed his other hand on John’s chest and pushed him backwards gently, John backing until he hit the counter. Apparently it was something Paul liked to do; have him against something so that he couldn’t run away.  
  
John liked that thought.  
  
Pressing his lips a bit stronger against John’s Paul took a hold of the shirt that covered John’s chest. Then, squeezing his fingers into fists, he pulled the older man closer to him until they were pressed up against each other. John’s hands found their way around Paul’s body and they broke apart, breathing unevenly, staring into each other’s eyes.  
  
“Oh how I wish,” Paul smiled then, marvelling at John’s beauty with clouded eyes, “that you would’ve kissed me here when you first tried.”  
  
“I would’ve,” John answered and ran his hands up and down Paul’s back, bringing him as close as he could. “But your little best fuckin’ friend ruined everythin’.”  
  
“This time he won’t,” Paul whispered and pressed his nose against John’s neck, breathing deeply in the other’s scent. He was quickly growing addicted to it. “This time he won’t,” he repeated and lightly kissed John’s neck. John’s breath hitched and Paul felt his hands squeezing the back of his shirt.  
  
He was nervous as fuck. In fact, he swore he was shaking a bit but he couldn’t say if that was lust instead of _fear_ , because of course he felt fear. He still didn’t know how to be with a guy and he knew from experience that porn videos didn’t really teach anything of how things were done in reality. So he settled on sucking John’s neck as that was something he _knew_ how to do. He knew that back in the loo they had been much more _aggressive_ and he also knew why; that had been the moment. They hadn’t thought while going at it. But now Paul could hear the thoughts whirling through John’s head while his own were screaming so loud that he could barely hear his breathing.  
  
“Paul, Paul, Christ,” John gasped and Paul felt a happy jolt in his lower stomach. He was the one causing that sound from John. He fucking was it and not Cynthia, not anyone else.  
  
And why not mark John as his, now that he had already started the task?

  
***~**~***

  


  
***~**~***

  
“Paul,” John’s hand was tugging at his hair and Paul retired with a slurping sound, eyeing at the red mark he had left on where John’s shoulder and throat met. He felt a nervous smile on his lips and he lifted his gaze, meeting John’s eyes that were burning red and dark, like coal.  
  
“Yeah?” he asked quietly, not surprised that his voice sounded a bit harsh.  
  
“Do you think that we could take our shirts off?”  
  
Paul laughed, took a hold of John’s shirt and yanked it over his head before the older man had time to say ‘hoy’.  
  
“Yeah,” he almost moaned then and placed his hands on John’s chest admiring his body. “I think we can.”  
  
“Your turn then,” John giggled nervously which Paul found extremely adorable. And then he was suddenly topless and they stumbled backwards, kissing again, chest to chest.

  
***~**~***

 

  
***~**~***

  
  
John dared to sneak his hand inside Paul’s jogging pants, making the younger man let out a nervous but desperate high-pitched noise. The hand rested on his backside though, neither one of them really knowing what to do.  
  
“Y’know,” Paul panted then into John’s mouth and paused for a while when the other’s lips captured his again. “Y’know, remember when I said... when I said that I had watched porn?”  
  
“Yeah,” John breathed and his hand squeezed another one of Paul’s butt cheeks. Paul jumped a bit and laughed then, wrapping both of his arms around John as tightly as he could.  
  
“It was gay porn,” he confessed, feeling his face light up with a pink tint.  
  
John stared at him with a blank expression before he suddenly let Paul go, backed up a bit and then slid against the counter top, his shoulders staring to shake with laughter. Soon enough his laughing could be heard too and Paul rolled his eyes before giggling, pressing his hand over his mouth.  
  
“Gay porn?! Does George know??” John turned to face him, tears in his eyes and somehow a painful expression on his face, trying to control the hysterical howling that was about to escape from him.  
  
“Dear god, no, I hope!” Paul’s wide eyes met his. “I’d be _dead_!”  
  
“And why’re you saying this to me now??????” John let out funny piggy-like grunts and Paul lost it.  
  
“I just... I just, oh my, I just...” he doubled over, holding his stomach, unable to hold his balance. So he fell to the floor and turned on his stomach, laughing with wet eyes. “I just wanted to tell that I have...” he had a tiny pause and looked at John with cloudy eyes. They both waited few seconds before Paul said with a tiny, quivering voice.  
  
“Blowledge.”  
  
That sent them both off the bridge and John’s feet gave out, sending him down to the floor next to Paul.

  
***~**~***

  


  
***~**~***

 

"Were you thinking of applying it now?" John gasped when they had more or less got their speech back, staring at Paul with teary eyes. Paul started giggling, seeming nervous.

"I mean," John hurried to say, "I would be totally happy to just get _something_ done, 'cos maybe then things will get... easier."

"Yeah," Paul breathed, starting to move towards John on the floor. He paused for a moment and then tilted his head, looking like he was wondering.

"It's not actually that much different from being with a girl," he murmured, lifting himself up on his arms and knees so that soon he was hovering over John, the atmosphere changing from playful to serious.

"I just don't know what to do with your chest," John breathed and glanced down at Paul's flat, slightly sweaty chest. Paul chuckled, but the laugh soon died in his throat.

He swallowed and leant closer, John's eyes flicking towards his mouth. Paul felt shivers down spine and the hair in his arms stand up as he stopped just before their lips reached each other.

"I just don't know," he breathed and saw John blink as the scent of his mouth hit the man's face, "what to do with you _dick_."

"Don't worry," John's voice was a lot higher than normally and his hands started creeping up Paul's arms that were on both sides of his head. "I have cockledge."

Paul laughed, and every bit of hesitation disappeared from his mind as he closed the distance between them and kissed John.

Kissing was the one thing he didn't mind; it wasn't that different from kissing a girl, but it was so. Much. Better. Paul didn't understand how it could be that kissing another man would bring him to his knees and be his doom like this, but it _did_.

He crawled over John, legs on either of the other's hips. John reached down towards his thighs and pulled him a little closer, Paul's back curling, a small hum escaping from his mouth. John smiled against his lips and then, without any warning at all, pressed his palm against Paul's crotch.

"Holy hell," Paul gasped and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, breaking the kiss. "Give man a warning-"

"Cockledge," John said, his voice as breathless, and applied pressure to where Paul needed it _most_.

"Doesn't- count," Paul bit his lip and shuddered, his dick hardening quick and fast, rapidly and above all, _with speed_.

John was a master in obfuscating, Paul decided, when the man proceeded to pull Paul back into a kiss to mask the movements of his right hand that was currently on the way _inside Paul's trousers_. He didn't fool Paul, the bastard. Paul would find a way to somehow-

" _Christ!"_ his yell was muffled by John's lips when John squeezed his dick that was still inside the underwear, running his fingers against the shape of it. " _John_ -"

"I got you," John muttered, almost to himself. "Not so different from doing it to yourself."

He sounded business-like while Paul was ascending into a writhing bubble of want and pleasure, moaning against John's mouth like he was a bloody _virgin_.

Somewhere in the haze of his mind there was a small voice that said "touch his dick, you know you want it". There was another one, however, that was still screaming "sins!!" into his ear.

Did the latter voice really mean anything now that Paul had his tongue down John's throat? If they were counting sins here, George was the one in this household that would be the first one to be doomed. He would descend into hell right on the throne, kick old Satan away and take over the place, putting up fuckfests and dildo shops that would give the stuff away for free.

No. Paul didn't want to think about George _now_.

His legs were quivering from pleasure, fighting to keep him upright. He also wanted to get his hands free, to give John back what he owned to the man, and so the decision to move was an easy one. Through mental fighting he managed to get the most of his weight on his legs, and then he took a hold of John's head and pulled at it, their kissing continuing as they both sat up, Paul in John's lap. The position made Paul's mind whirl and he asked himself quickly whether this was too much or not. Could he handle si _tting in John's lap????_

John decided for him. He wrapped his arms around Paul's waist and pulled him closer, and at that move, their crotches touched each other.

They both stilled, tremors running through Paul, and John's breath was cut in the most erotic, intense way.

Paul pulled back, met John's eyes, there was silence in the world and saliva on John's lip, and John's eyes were black and burning and he leant forward and took Paul's mouth as his own.

The fire was back.

John moaned and his hands on Paul's waist twitched, soon lowering themselves to his pelvis. Paul started moving, and soon they were moaning into each other's mouths as the friction between their bodies increased.

Paul had no idea what to do with his hands. Usually he had been the one in John's position. Should he push them into John's hair? Should he grab his head? Should he put them on the man's shoulders? What use were of his hands anyway? Always in the way, the useless pieces of shit.

"Where do I-" he gasped, kissing John deeply again before being able to stop himself, "-put my, uh, hands??"

John's lips spread into a smile, but whatever he had been about to say was soon silence by Paul, who proceeded to suck John's tongue into his mouth. It felt like his body moved of its own accord as he rutted against John, needing release and needing it as soon as possible.

Wait. John had no shirt on.

He gasped and John used the situation to his advantage, as he dove towards Paul's throat and latched his mouth against it. Paul let out a long and a throaty moan as his  _boyfriend_ (holy!!! shouted his brain) sucked at his throat with masterful skills. Paul had never had anyone that good.

"J-John," he breathed and his fingers clawed at the man's back, apparently having found themselves something to do. John licked, slurped, retreated, and lifted his gaze.

The look, the utter _lust_ in his eyes was all Paul needed to fall over the edge.

He groaned and held onto John, and John's hands were squeezing him, and he heard John let out a small, sob-like noise.

" _Fuck_."

Paul was having a hard time understanding it.

He had actually _got_ that noise out of John. He, and no one else, and _especially_ not Cynthia.

It felt like his life was complete now.

"Well," John started then, pulling slightly back. He and Paul stared at each other, and then Paul started giggling nervously.

"Wasn't too awful," he stated and John cracked up as well, collapsing against Paul in a heap of small, helpless laughing. In a moment like this it was easy to forget every worry they had; it was easy to forget that they now lived both in the same flat as George.

Ah, yes. Speaking of George.  
  
Paul and John decided to move into their bedroom (through the loo) for the post-orgasm cuddling, as the floor of the kitchen proved to be a bit uncomfortable. For ages Paul had been thinking of buying a carpet for there, but somehow his money always ran out before he could remember to.  
  
Giggling, they put their shirts on together, unable to stop kissing. Now that they had spoken about the difficult things and had reached some kind of a peace with their limits, they were free to enjoy the other. Curiosity of how to touch and how to kiss, how to find the perfect balance between them had now taken over, and so they had their hands on each other all the time; of course with a silent agreement they were avoiding _certain places_ , neither one being able to go that far yet. They knew it would take days, maybe even weeks or months to achieve a true comfort with each other.  
  
They both drank a glass of water and started heading for the bathroom, hand in hand, blushing and giggling every time their eyes met (and then kissing after that, of course). They were just going past the front door when Paul stopped.  
  
“Paul?” John questioned him with a tilt of his head and then looked in the direction of Paul’s gaze.  
  
George’s trainers were resting peacefully on the floor, where he had thrown them when coming in. His autumn jacket was in the wardrobe, but the door of the piece of furniture had been left open, which was very habitual for George.  
  
_George’s trainers were resting peacefully on the floor._  
  
“Oh shit,” John breathed and he and Paul both lost the rosy colour on their cheeks in a matter of seconds. They stared at George’s shoes, then at each other, then at the shoes again and then they turned to stare at the corridor that led into the living room.  
  
“No,” Paul squeaked and then they rushed at the door together, yanking it open.  
  
George was sitting on the sofa, legs crossed and a laptop on a tray in his lap to prevent overheating. He lifted his head up when the two lovers burst into the room and for a while they just stared at each other.  
  
And then a madly delighted smile started to spread on George’s lips.  
  
“Hi, I came home earlier,” he said the two others who seemed to have died on that very spot. “I see ye finished,” the smile got wider and George looked for a while like a very pleased Disney villain.  
  
“George,” Paul breathed and his hands clenched into fists. He said slowly through his teeth: “How long exactly--- have you... been... home.”  
  
“Not long...” George answered with a sing-a-song voice, “came in just in time to hear ye takin’ off yer shirts!”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” John moaned and covered both of his eyes with his hands, leaning on the door of the living room. Paul was shaking from head to toe, fists twitching repeatedly. And then he couldn’t take it anymore.  
  
“I WILL FUCKING PUNCH YOU IN THE ANUS,” he screamed, startling John and making George laugh while he jumped on his feet.  
  
“OH YES PLEASE,” he yelled when Paul started chasing him, using his True Liverpudlian’s Swearing Vocabulary to try and scratch George’s unbreakable skin; maybe even kill him if possible.  
  
“I won’t be able to live here,” John whispered to himself and retreated quietly but fast into Paul and his room. “I won’t be able to live here,” he repeated and Creature jumped on his chest when he lied down on the bed, rubbing his eyes with his hands.  
  
“ _Very fortunate for your mechanic to be HOT too!!!!_ ” George shouted from somewhere in the house and Paul let out a wordless roar of pure rage.  
  
_’Yeah,’_ John sighed to himself, _’Very very fortunate. At least all this is proof that George rules the world.’_  
  
George ruled everything.

 

***~ THE END ~***


	12. Epilogue - George Gets The Last Word

George lifted his mouth from Ringo’s dick, swallowing down the other’s release while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Ringo grinned down at him and cocked an eyebrow.  
  
“Well?” he then asked and George chuckled, his voice rasped.  
  
“Perfect, as always. I just love your taste.”  
  
“Of course you do, you’re a whore, George. An’ the world knows it too,” Ringo snorted and George giggled.  
  
“Are ye stayin’ longer?”  
  
“Yeah… Could actually move in right away.” Ringo looked at him with adoration in his eyes and George smiled widely and crawled up to his lover, snuggling next to him.  
  
“I ain’t objecting to that,” he smiled as he turned and nuzzled his nose against Ringo’s. “Only if the OTP agrees, then yeah.”  
  
“If we promised to be silent at nights?” Ringo raised his eyebrows and George laughed.  
  
“Yeah, I guess that’ll make it.”  
  
Ringo lifted his hand to shut down the bedside lamp and they lied in the darkness for few minutes before the older man talked again:  
  
“They’re actually very quiet.”  
  
“Yeah,” George yawned and climbed up to sleep on Ringo’s chest. “They’re really, really slow. I mean, I guess they haven’t gone past handjobs or somethin’,” he yawned again, “but that’s all right, if it’s their relationship. At least they’re together.”  
  
“You sound like it was actually hard to get to this point,” Ringo chuckled and stroked George’s hair sleepily. They really should talk about these things before sex to avoid falling asleep in the middle of one’s sentence.  
  
“You weren’t there durin’ the final days,” George grumbled and wrapped his arms loosely around his snuggle-bunny. “That really made me a bit irritated. They were such arses, so close to each other but so fuckin’ far. I had a right to open up a bit.”  
  
“You surely did,” Ringo mumbled and sighed happily. “Two arses who complete each other.”  
  
George didn’t answer anymore, but Ringo felt him smiling against his chest.

***~**~***

Paul turned his head slowly, not really grasping anything of the world around him. Only that there was something really annoying and really shiny in the corner of his right eye and that there was no one under his arm. In his sleepy state he understood that those two things weren’t right and that someone, whoever it had been, had gotten up and switched on the light that was on the desk.  
  
“John?” he mumbled without having any force in himself to actually create a voice. He heard a silent chuckle and then someone came in the front of the lamp, saving Paul’s eyes from burning and him going blind.  
  
“Didn’t mean to wake ye up,” there was a voice that was actually quite close and Paul forced his left eye open.  
  
John had kneeled in front of the bed, leaning his head on his arms that were resting on the mattress. His hair was sticking up into places Paul had never imagined it could and he had a blinding smile on his face.  
  
“Oh God,” Paul mumbled and lifted a hand on his eyes, “Don’t ever smile like that when it’s fuckin’ four in the morning.”  
  
“Actually, it’s half past eight and my job is startin’ in thirty minutes, so I honestly wouldn’t have time to listen to your vague rambling ‘bout my smile,” John’s smile got even wider and Paul groaned, turning to lie on his back.  
  
“And still you are,” he stated and forced a tiny smile on his lips that didn’t fool John at all. He himself did know well how it felt to smile when you just were too tired to even breathe.  
  
“I _was_ ,” he grinned and jumped on his feet, leaning down to press a quick kiss on the top of Paul’s nose and then he was gone, switching off the light before closing the door silently but _fast_. Paul breathed for some time without moving, basking in the sweet darkness before he turned on his left side and fell back into a blessed dream that had been so rudely interrupted by his boyfriend.  
  
He was sure John was lying about the ‘half past eight’. There was no way it was after six.

***~**~***

”Oi! Lover boy!”  
  
“Jeff!” John threw his leather jacket over his permanent chair that no one else was allowed to touch when it was his shift. He slammed his hand against Jeff’s and they pulled stupid faces at each other for fifteen seconds, before a tiny bell rang to inform that it was time to open the shop and they laughed before starting their job.  
  
John did like his work. Of course he could’ve been in a place where he could use more of his imagination and that wasn’t as boring as this, _and_ his aunt surely disliked him working in an electrical equipment shop, but John had grown fond of his job and he enjoyed being able to get lots of dear electric stuff for free. That’s how he had been able to repair Paul’s computer for free; he had just winked at Jeff that he had some stuff that needed to be done. Jeff, being his boss, the owner of the shop and also his very good friend, had basically drowned him in components and wires.  
  
“Could you help me with these new cables?” Jeff called, coming out from the storage room, three cardboard boxes in his hands waving threateningly, just about to fall down. John hurried over to take two of them and together they carried them over the tiny shop to the shelves that contained wires and cables. They started sorting out the newly arrived products while keeping an eye out in case there were customers coming in.  
  
“I need to remember the bell,” Jeff said, referring to a bell that would be attached to the door to alarm when someone came in (or left).  
  
“Yeah,” John chuckled. “Seeing as I’ve waited a year for you to do it! You know, I’d do a better boss than you as you wouldn’t even remember to eat without me.”  
  
“Aw, don’t mock me,” Jeff grinned and pushed him a bit on the side. “How’s it doin’ with life in general?”  
  
“You mean has anythin’ changed over the weekend?” John asked and raised his eyebrows. Jeff giggled and nodded.  
  
“You’re the worst closet queer I’ve ever met,” John huffed but couldn’t help but smile. “Well, there’s nothing new. Same-old-same-old and all that stuff.”  
  
“But you haven’t really told me anything,” Jeff pouted and dropped few wire packets on the floor when his elbow accidentally knocked over them. “I only know that you live with Paul an’ that’s everything. You never tell me anything even if I ask.”  
  
“Well, there’s nothing much to say,” John sighed and collected the packets from the floor. “We go on day by day an’ we’re happy together. What else do I have to tell?”  
  
“For example, are you in anal sex already?”  
  
“Jeff!” John huffed and stood up, hitting his boss with three cables that were in his hand. “We’re not and we don’t want to, but stop askin’ it every day! There’s enough trouble to live in the same flat as George, I don’t need you invading my privacy.” He paused for a moment and a faint smile spread on his lips when he thought how Paul would have reacted at the question. “Besides, I think Paul wouldn’t want me to share our sex life to everyone.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
For a while they worked in silence, changing amused smiles between them. And then, just when John was about to go and start doing some paper work, Jeff grinned at him and opened his mouth:  
  
“When’s your marriage then?”  
  
John threw an empty cardboard box at him and ran away into the coffee room, Jeff’s laugh following him all the way there.

***~**~***

Paul watched absent-minded as the Doctor and Donna tried to save Pompeii from rather ugly aliens. He had wrapped himself up in a blanket and resting on his lap he had Creature, who purred when his fingers softly stroked her fur. It was pathetic to spend your days like this, but he really didn’t have anything else to do.  
  
It had been about two and a half months since John had moved in and Christmas would be in five days. Paul still couldn’t believe how fast the time had passed. The weeks before they had been together had been very long and tiring, so maybe that was the reason why days had gone past with such speed. And maybe one of the reasons was that now Paul had someone to share his life with and the flat was full of life and laugh from day to day.

A part of him couldn’t help but wonder how long their happiness would last, but he always managed to push that thought somewhere where it didn’t bother him; they were happy now and that was what mattered.  
  
He still couldn’t believe his luck in finding someone as perfect as John. He was always helpful; knew how to cook _something_ and Paul had last eaten so well when he had still lived with his parents. John wasn’t the cleanest person to walk on Earth but he and Paul made a good match; Laundry day was Saturday and they would carry together the stinking mountain of clothes into the loo. John knew how to write; there were days when all of them four, George and Ringo and Paul and John would take over the living room with laptops and crisps and they would write for hours, each one of their own stuff. If they happened to get stuck they could always demand that one of the others would help them to go on. Paul had even thought of writing his novel with John, at least mentioning him on the first page. If not for helping with the writing, then for saving him by repairing his computer. And for being the Best. Boyfriend. Ever.  
  
Not to mention his skills in bed. Because God, Paul had never had sex as good as with John. Even if they didn’t do anal and neither one showed that much interest in doing it they had such hot moments that Paul thought his brain would melt every time he even thought about them. And maybe they would arrive at the anal sex some time in the future; now the thought of it felt way too uncomfortable and even disgusting. Paul had done his research; had he read some fics as well that were apparently a good way in learning how to have sex with guys. He hadn’t gotten aroused though, maybe because it was written. Watching two guys fuck did give him a boner (been there, done that) but whenever he thought of having to do it with John gave him tiny shivers. And fortunately that was what John felt as well.  
  
He didn’t know if it was love. He wasn’t sure if he could say as soon as after three months that he loved John. Perhaps it was possible; he knew that it could be possible. The feeling he had for the other was stronger than just general liking and he thought that it could be love. Whenever they had a romantic moment (quite often, actually) Paul’s heart would melt and John would say things so sweet that they’d make Paul ache for more very desperately and so they would spend the rest of the evening kissing and cuddling and talking sappily.  
  
Paul thought that it could be love. But he didn’t want to say anything yet, not in some time, because he knew that if they were too fast it would hurt too badly if they ever broke up. If it turned out that this relationship wouldn’t work and they broke up in two months, then at least Paul would have some hope to cope with his life from that moment on. If he was sure that he was in love with John it would be way much more difficult. It was better to wait for a right moment, for a sweet glance and a chaste kiss on the lips that would tell Paul that John loved him as well and then he would say it. Unless John got there first. Then Paul would be happy to say ‘I love you too’ and then cry few happy tears. But for now Paul was happy to think that he really really liked John. And he really hoped that it was the same for John.  
  
He knew that it was the same for him.  
  
“Home!” a loud shout broke through the living room door and then after ten seconds, the door opened and John pushed his head in from the tiny spot between the door and the wall.  
  
“Hi,” he grinned, his face lighting up. “I see you’re still half-asleep.”  
  
“Yeah, what with you wakin’ me up at _four_ ,” Paul answered and pressed the pause button on the TV control, the image pausing at David Tennant shouting at a man for selling his TARDIS.  
  
“First, it wasn’t four and second, even if it was, do you honestly think that I would be all up and shiny?” John grinned while opening the door wholly. He took off his shoes while standing there and threw them somewhere behind his back, not much caring if he ever saw them again. “Is the Couple here?”  
  
“Nope, left at one PM to do whatever they’re gonna do, go to Ringo’s place and fuck some more I guess,” Paul said nonchalantly and motioned John to come closer. “How was the day?”  
  
“Fine,” John shrugged and placed his backpack on the ground, throwing his leather jacket over it a few moments later. “Jeff told me that I can start my holiday on Wednesday.” He walked over the carpet, avoiding old crisps that George had accidentally dropped there a few days ago and that still needed to be cleaned. Then he threw himself on the sofa, shooed Creature away and placed his head on Paul’s lap, sighing happily and closing his eyes. “And your day?” he asked and took a bit better position farther over Paul’s thighs when the younger man started to stroke his hair.  
  
“Fine, I guess,” Paul answered and grinned at John snorting. “Haven’t done many things... Watched half of the season 3.”  
  
“But that’s four, isn’t it?” John turned his head to catch a glimpse of the TV screen where David Tennant was still looking furious.  
  
“Yeah, the third episode... I just changed the DVD,” Paul yawned and John laughed.  
  
“God, you really aren’t very productive.”  
  
“Well, no, I’m not.”  
  
“Hmm,” John frowned and smiled up at his boyfriend, eyes shining. “You should get a job. Me’n Jeff could use a helping hand.”  
  
“Me?” Paul looked at him with wide eyes. “I don’t know a thing about electricity!”  
  
“You could be the cleaning lady,” John cackled and Paul slapped playfully on the top of his head, John whining as if he was in great pain. The younger man just rolled his eyes and relaxed again against the sofa, sighing when John lifted his hand to stroke his chin with gentle fingers.  
  
“No, but seriously, you should get a job. You’re turnin’ into a couch-potato. I don’t wanna kiss potatoes,” John frowned looking disgusted and Paul hummed.  
  
“Can’t help that I got kicked out of the Uni,” he then let out a blank chuckle and John got up on one elbow and stared at Paul, still frowning.  
  
“Well, it was partly my fault that you abandoned your Uni work so it’s my responsibility to get you a job.”  
  
“I thought we were done discussing this. It was wholly my fault that I became too obsessed over you.” Paul’s smile was shining and John huffed, slumping back on his earlier position.  
  
“Can never be too serious when you say that,” he then smiled lightly and Paul gave him a happy grin.  
  
It was that moment when there was a bang from the door and John let out a deep sigh, burying his face into Paul’s blanket-covered stomach.  
  
“There went that moment,” he managed to mumble before the living room door was thrown open by George, who walked in, wearing the hugest grin that the mankind had ever seen on his face.  
  
“Lovebirds!” he shouted and John groaned, moving so that he could wrap his arms around Paul and snuggle closer to him, looking like he was trying to block out George’s existence.  
  
“Hi George,” Paul said with a faint smile and giggled when John squeezed him even tighter, mumbling ‘fucking throw him out of the window.’  
  
“Get up and work!” George yelled leaning closer to John when he got next to the sofa (minding the crisps). John let out a voice that sounded like a hiss and Paul giggled again, hugging John even closer and planting a kiss on the top of his hair.  
  
“No, seriously,” there was Ringo’s voice from the hall, “We need your help!”  
  
“With what, actually?” Paul frowned and George’s still widening grin should have warned him already, but…  
  
“Ringo’s movin’ in!!!” he whooped and John was on his feet so fast that Paul didn’t have much time to register when he had wriggled himself free from his arms (or how, as Paul had had quite a hold of him).  
  
“Ringo’s whAT???” John started and George jumped out of the way, laughing in delight.  
  
“Moving IN!!!!” he shouted back and then John was off chasing him, them both disappearing into the hallway. Paul raised his eyebrows and decided that maybe he was obliged to get up at this point.  
  
“You’re moving in?” he asked when he entered the hallway, John and George nowhere to be seen. Ringo stood by the door, leaning on the wall arms crossed and smiling widely, blue eyes shining with a glint that was way too much like the one in George’s.  
  
“Yeah, me’n George have been talking ‘bout it for some time now and he has been very strict about it happening before Christmas, so…” he shrugged, “Better do it now than tomorrow.”  
  
“And it never occurred to you two to ask the other people that live here?” Paul’s eyebrows still rose and Ringo’s gaze followed them, his face wearing an amused expression.  
  
“Well, hope you won’t mind?” he grinned and Paul sighed with a chuckle, shaking his head.  
  
“No, not really. But I guess that John’s thinkin’ about his beauty sleep.”  
  
“We won’t be fuckin’ during the mornin’ hours and that’s the time he usually sleeps… You can’t say that you’re so modest that there’s no fuckin’ in the dark,” the big-nosed man smiled widely and Paul was once again reminded that George and Ringo did make a good match and that he and John were going to be doomed if they were to live with the other couple.  
  
Which gave him a thought he had almost forgotten already, after these few months.  
  
“Are you two actually together?” he frowned and tilted his head questioningly. “George says that you’re not but for some reason I don’t really believe him.”  
  
“Well,” Ringo smiled happily, “you could say that it’s true and it’s not. Officially we’re not together ‘cos we like to keep this tiny bit of freedom but then again, if people ask me who he is I do say my boyfriend, so…” he shrugged and scratched at his neck. “But I guess that maybe in few years we’ll be like, properly together, when we grow up a bit and get over this fuckin’ around–period.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s literally fuckin’ around,” Paul smiled and nodded, turning to look at the cardboard boxes that were lying at Ringo’s feet.  
  
“You need any help with them?”  
  
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll get the ones that are still in the car, as your current state of clothing doesn’t really allow you to get out of the flat…” Ringo’s eyes fell on Paul’s bare feet and Paul wrapped the blanket tighter around him, smiling sheepishly. Ringo winked and stretched his back before walking to the door.  
  
“If you could just carry some this stuff into George’s room it’d be great,” he smiled and Paul nodded, glancing around him hopingly in case a wild boyfriend would appear to help him.  
  
He could just imagine how the life would go on with all of them four living in the same flat.  
  
Maybe he should get a job, just to get out of there for some time.

***~**~***

“It fuckin’ did it AGAIN!” Paul’s yell could be heard when he thumped out from his room and towards the living room. John, George and Ringo had been there, John playing Temple Run 2 on his iPhone (trying to break the new record Paul had made few weeks ago, knowing that this time he was never going to succeed) and George and Ringo writing together, mumbling quietly when Ringo pointed at something on the screen of George’s laptop and George’s fingers flew over the keyboard, following Ringo’s advice. Paul, for some reason, had been in he and John’s bedroom to write without joining the others and apparently something had happened.  
  
Very apparently, as he rushed in like a rhinoceros with his laptop in his hands and stopped in front of John, shoving the ex-love in his face.  
  
“Fuckin’ _explain_ ,” Paul hissed and John pushed the computer a bit further away from his face, adjusted his glasses and squinted at the tiny text that was in the screen.  
  
_You ought to know that it’s not always good to trust strangers when it comes to repairing computers._  
  
“Oh. Haha,” he breathed his face blank and lifted his eyes to meet Paul’s furious ones.  
  
“It was YOU all the time!!!” the dark-haired man then yelled and John was up on his feet within a second.  
  
“Yeah, I can explain, I—“ he started but didn’t get very far before Paul let out a furious wordless cry, threw his laptop on the sofa and then they were off, running out of the living room, John yelling ‘I’M SO SORRY’.  
  
George and Ringo glanced at each other before they burst up into a laugh and high-fived while cheering.

***~**~***

“I can’t BELIEVE you did it! You’re worse than George! I freaked out so bad!!!”  
  
Paul had caught John in the kitchen and was now holding him against the fridge, not caring that few notes that were attached to it had already fallen down.  
  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ John started again but Paul didn’t give him time to finish his sentence.  
  
“You fucking _HACKED_ my _COMPUTER_!” his voice got few octaves higher. “Fuckin’ hacked my fuckin’ _MACBOOK!_ ”

John let out a nervous laugh and patted Paul on the head carefully.  
  
“Yeah, I’m a genius, ain’t I?”  
  
“How did you even _do_ it???” Paul looked now totally bewildered and lifted his hands up, causing John to slump down a bit. He smoothed down his orange polo-neck and grinned when Paul turned dramatically, throwing his hands on the air.  
  
“You can HACK COMPUTERS!” the younger man exclaimed and John started to laugh when Paul turned back on him, his eyes glinting manically. “Can you hack George’s?”  
  
“If I get my hands on it and few hours, yeah,” John giggled and a wolfish smile spread on Paul’s lips.  
  
“Fuckin’ great. And you know, your poems are bloody good,” he said and playfully slapped at the side of John’s head, something that he did quite often, actually. John grinned sweetly and gave a tiny peck at Paul’s cheek while wrapping his arms around his waist.  
  
“Want me to remove the thing?” he then asked and sat on the kitchen table without letting go of the younger man, forcing him to settle between his thighs. Paul giggled and shook his head.  
  
“Nah, I’m quite fond of it at this point. Just, you can _hack_ things, you bloody—“ he punched John lightly on the stomach and John groaned, slumped against Paul theatrically and brought him even closer, letting out a cheeky giggle.  
  
“I’m never lettin’ you go,” he growled into Paul’s shoulder and Paul rolled his eyes when John tightened his hold, making it impossible for his boyfriend to get away.  
  
“Yeah, if you like,” the dark-haired man deadpanned and John wrapped his legs around Paul’s, all the while letting out evil-sounding giggles.  
  
“Octopus,” he then stated and Paul chuckled, running his fingers through John’s hair.  
  
“An idiotic one of those,” he answered and John poked him on the back, making some use for his mouth as well and attached it to Paul’s neck where the t-shirt ended and the skin started.  
  
“Octopus,” Paul giggled and John started making weird slurping sounds against Paul’s skin. Paul tolerated it for two minutes before he pushed his boyfriend away with a disgusted expression on his face.  
  
“I don’t like fish eating me, sorry.”  
  
“Octopuses are not fish!” John said looking appalled while trying to get Paul back into his arms. “Come on love, lemme be your octopus!” He reached out his hands and feet and Paul made a run to the other side of the room.  
  
“Octopuses are slimy!” he shrieked and John cracked up, holding his stomach with one hand while the other still tried to grab Paul, even if it was clearly impossible seeing as the lad was on the other side of the room.  
  
“They have _suction cups_ ,” he hissed and dropped himself on the floor, starting to crawl towards Paul, who dashed away while laughing uncontrollably.

***~**~***

“Describe that a bit better,” Ringo said and pointed at a sentence on the screen of the laptop.  
  
“Like how?” George frowned and Paul ran past the sofa, throwing a pillow at John in the progress.  
  
“Like, uh… more sweat and panting and stuff,” Ringo lifted his legs on the sofa when John crawled past them, making slurping sounds and growling ‘octopus will always catch you’.  
  
“Here???” George looked at him eyebrows rising when John caught Paul’s legs and tackled him to the ground.  
  
“Yeah,” Ringo answered his stare with a serious expression when Paul laughed and screamed when John proceeded to press him down with all his weight and eat his face. “Inspiration is on the right.” He nodded his head towards the two lads on the floor.  
  
“But here they’re already fuckin’!” George argued pointing at the screen and Ringo shrugged.  
  
“I don’t know man, you could just watch and forget writin’!”  
  
“Excuse me, excuse me, John! Off! Excuse me…” Paul pushed John off and tried to get up, only to get pulled back down. “John! No, really, they’re watchin’!” he huffed and tried to crawl away without much success.  
  
“Don’t care, free porn??” John slurped and pushed Paul on his stomach and started tickling his lower back while sucking his neck. Paul seemed to be torn between laughing and moaning and so he let out weird snorting noises that made John laugh, his voice muffled by Paul’s skin.  
  
“I can’t concentrate!” George yelled at them and massaged his forehead. “So, more sweat here?”  
  
“Yeah,” Ringo turned his head back on the screen. “Just… there.”  
  
“Okay. Sweat comin’,” George said and started typing fast, not caring about the two lovebirds that were lying on the floor, now just holding each other and laughing hysterically into each other’s mouths.

***~**~***

“Here, quickquickquick!” Paul hissed and jumped over the piles of clothes with a laptop in his hands. “Come on!”  
  
“Yeah, hang on!” John hissed back and closed the door of their bedroom, lifting a chair under the knob to prevent anyone from entering. He moved over the clothes and climbed on the bed, prepared himself with cracking his fingers and then received the laptop into his arms. Paul came to sit next to him with nervous giggling and John pressed the starting button.  
  
“You sure he won’t notice anything?” the dark-haired man then whispered urgently into John’s ear and John patted him away, nodding fast.  
  
“Yeah, he won’t, at least not before he actually _goes there_!” They both giggled manically and John pressed few buttons before the screen turned white. He typed something fast (Paul didn’t quite grasp it) and a window opened in front of their eyes.  
  
“Voila!” he cheered quietly and Paul’s eyes widened, an impressed expression on his face. “Now we have the access on all the files he got on his computer!”  
  
“Hm,” Paul frowned after eyeing the content they were able to see. “What’s that folder?” He pointed at a folder icon. John fixed his glasses and raised his eyebrows.  
  
“O-T-P?” he asked carefully and glanced at Paul. He had a bad feeling about this. “It’s probably jus’ Merlin.”  
  
Paul nodded frowning, urged him on wordlessly and John clicked on the icon, swallowing nervously.  
  
A huge amount of Word-documents hit their eyes and Paul blinked slowly. Then, without saying anything, he just pointed at the first one and John opened the document while taking a deep breath.  
  
_The sun seemed to reflect off of Paul's night black hair like a glass. John smiled at his lover affectionately. Paul looked up at the man suddenly with his dark doe eyes. He smiled.  
  
"Hey baby," Paul said softly, standing up from his chair at the table. He walked over to John and kissed him passionately. John pulled him close and kissed back. His hands explored the younger's back and found their way to the black locks of hair. He tugged lightly, Paul moaning in response. That was when John had an idea. He let go of the man and looked him in the eyes. Paul squeaked in confusion, large eyes looking up.  
  
"What? Did I do something?" Paul asked innocently. John only grinned mischievously.  
  
"Oh yes... yes you did." John spoke deeply, wheels turning in his head.  
  
"W-what?" Paul whimpered.  
  
"You've been a bad boy, Mr. McCartney... a bad, **bad** boy..." John licked his lips sinfully. Paul seemed to grasp the situation, his eyes darkening in approval.  
  
"Oh yeah?" He moaned. John stepped towards the man, putting his hands on the other's thin chest. Slowly he backed Paul into the kitchen table, falling onto it.—_  
  
They stared at the text and it took about two minutes for them to actually react.  
  
“Oh my God,” Paul whispered and took a hold of his head with both of his hands. “Oh my _God_.”  
  
John just pressed one hand over his mouth closing his, breathing deeply through his nose. George was going to die. This time there was nothing that would stop it from happening. This time George. Would. _Die_.  
  
“I’m going to fuckin’ kill him,” Paul breathed and his fingers made grabbing motions in the air as if they were having a hold of George’s throat. John tried to calm down his rapid breathing and then a frown broke its way on his forehead.  
  
“I’ll fuckin’ have my revenge,” he growled deeply in his throat and with closing all the documents, opened the command prompt and started typing frantically, Paul losing the chain of events within few seconds as letters and HTML-language swarmed in front of his eyes. He sighed deeply and rubbing his eyes, rested his head on John’s shoulder. He would turn George into cat food when the lad came back from work.

***~**~***

The sound of footsteps coming closer to their room told that George had switched on his computer, had opened Google Chrome and had chosen few certain pages to open. The footsteps that were still approaching also told that John had succeeded with special congratulations from the jury, also known as Paul.  
  
The door banged open and George stormed in without so much of a greeting, eyes dark with rage and hands squeezed into fists.  
  
“JOHN. WINSTON. LENNON!!!” he yelled and John lifted his face from the book he had been reading (Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix, his all time favourite) and offered a careful smile.  
  
“Yeah?” he asked way too innocently and George looked like he was about to turn into a dragon and burn John to death there and then. Paul spun around with his office chair and stared at George blankly, seemingly not giving a single fuck that his boyfriend was about to burn.  
  
“You,” he stated then and lowered his gaze. “You’ve fuckin’ written fuckin’ PORN of US!”  
  
“And YOU,” George started without removing his eyes from John, who was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable, to be truthful. “YOU have HACKED my COMPUTER to go to the fuckin’ MY LITTLE PONY HOMEPAGE _EVERYTIME_ I TRY TO WATCH PORN!!!” he was almost screaming now and John shrugged.  
  
“Well? You can wank for Pinkie Pie jus’ easily?”  
  
“John, for the love of God, please tell me you don’t do that,” Paul said quietly and John grinned with a way that showed that no, he didn’t.  
  
“FUCKIN’ MY LITTLE PONY!!!” George yelled and all three could hear Ringo laughing somewhere.  
  
“Well, fuckin’ PORN!” Paul yelled back and was on his feet, but George snapped his head on him and his eyes flashed with rage.  
  
“YES, Paul, fuckin’ PORN. And ye wanna know somethin’ else as well??? Better sit down princess,” he hissed through his teeth, “as this is gonna _fuck ye up_.”  
  
Paul crossed his arms over his chest and a smile widened on George’s lips, smile so purely evil and at the same time delighted that Paul had to step back a little. John felt his shoulders tense up and he wished he could close his ears. He _really_ didn’t feel like he needed to know another one of George’s awful secrets containing him and Paul and a dirty mind.  
  
“I’m not the only one,” George grinned and both John and Paul stared at him, unable to say anything. “That’s right, bitches. _I’m not the only one_!” George laughed manically and pointed at Paul’s computer, Paul moving closer to it protectively.  
  
“See, I posted one fic on tumblr, an’ people liked it!” the youngest of them hissed and took a step closer to Paul, Paul now stumbling back into his chair. “An’ they asked for more. An’ fuckin’ ‘ell, I bloody wrote! An’ it started to spread. At the moment ye got a fuckin’ _fandom_ there! A community in Livejournal! Full of writers that make their best to give the world the _best_ porn with characters called Paul McCartney and John Lennon!” he laughed and Paul looked like it was totally impossible for him to breath. He looked around the room hopelessly and his eyes landed on John, pleading for help. John just stared at George, totally speechless for once in his life, eyes wide and face a bit pale.  
  
“Yeah, heard it right??” George threw himself on the bed and John quickly lifted his knees against his chest, trying not to let George touch him in _any ways_. “You’re fuckin’ famous! _I_ kept the porn quite modest, to be truthful but boy, ye should see some of these stories... Some classics like the Red Hall, man I had a fuckin’ boner for a _week_ after that!”  
  
“George—“ Paul breathed now and John feared he was about to have a heart attack or something as nice if George still continued. George just laughed and jumped on his feet.  
  
“So, if any of ye two feel horny any time, I can give you some _really_ good recs,” he giggled and with that he was out of the room.

John blinked and slowly turned his head to look at Paul.  
  
Well.  
  
Fuck.

  
  
**~ THE REAL FIN ~  
**

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are well appreciated!


End file.
